


blooming day

by jisungtheworld (winwinnie)



Series: almost home (foster family au) [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, BANG CHAN BEST DAD, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, actually im not sorry y'all had a whole fic about him, aka: you're gonna get cavities, and continues onto chan eventually fostering them all, autistic! seungmin, blind! jisung, some mentions of not great parenting, the fic starts out with baby minho, there's no felix rip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinnie/pseuds/jisungtheworld
Summary: Everything that he'd planned to say suddenly seems wrong. It doesn't fit, and when Chan lets his instincts take hold of the situation, he finds that there's only one thing he can do.When the baby smiles at him, he smiles back."Hello, Minho."(also known as: how bang chan ended up fostering six children, and still had enough space in his heart left for one more)
Series: almost home (foster family au) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695763
Comments: 217
Kudos: 302





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S BACK, BABY!!
> 
> i wrote this chapter So Quickly in order to get it finished as an birthday present to myself. enjoy!

When Chan gets home, something is off.

It's not obvious at first. He pushes the door to his apartment open like usual, kicks off his shoes like usual, and then almost immediately becomes aware that something is wrong. The air is filled with tension somehow, and he's sure he can hear something moving down the corridor.

Maybe the sensible thing would be to step back outside, waiting for back-up before charging in unarmed and unprepared.

Chan, however, is not that sensible. The door to his apartment had been locked, just the way he'd left it, so it's unlikely that anyone had broken in, considering his windows were several stories off the ground. And he's not _completely_ unarmed. He's got his keys clutched in his hands still, and he's figured out by how that the sound is coming from the direction of his kitchen, which is so crammed full of furniture that it's practically impossible to move around quickly.

He draws his hands up to his chest, creeps along the rest of the hallway careful not to make any noise, and then pushes the door open.

Maybe he should have realised that something was off because of the two extra pairs of shoes at the door. The two coats hanging up, perhaps, or the familiar sound of his bathroom door locking itself. As if any sensible burglar would lock the door to the loo before using it.

"Chan, you're back."

Standing in front of his kitchen counter is his mom. She smiles at him - pointedly looking past the keys clutched like weapons to his chest - and gestures for him to come closer. Her eyes are bright, despite the low light of the room, and for a moment Chan almost forgets about the weird tension in the air.

"Mom?" He asks, half-confused and half-annoyed. He's no stranger to his parents stopping by every-so-often, they have a good relationship, and when they're in the country they often visit him. But coming over unannounced - _that's_ strange. "What are you doing here?"

All he gets in response is another smile, and then a bashful laugh. "Can't I come and see my favourite son?"

Chan raises his eyebrows. "Don't let my brothers hear you say that," he warns, "and don't try and change the subject, Mom. Why are you here without telling me?"

"We didn't tell you?"

It's accompanied by such a suspicious laugh that Chan has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He loves his Mom, he really does, but she can't lie to save her life. The question is, what is she lying about? Why does she keep trying to distract him?

"Nope. And you know that you didn't tell me."

Again, the nervous laugh. She looks behind Chan to the bathroom door, but her eyes are back before it can become suspicious. That is, if everything else about her wasn't completely suspicious as well. He posture is too wooden. She's missing the usual make-up that decorates her face, and her outfit is nowhere near as well put-together. Maybe her hands are shaking, maybe the bags underneath her eyes are a little more pronounced. "Oh, whoops. We were in such a rush, honey, it must have slipped my mind."

They must have been in a rush, that much is true. It explains the make-up and the outfit. The rest of it, however, is just as much of a mystery as it had been five seconds ago. And she hasn't answered the question - why his parents are even here in the first place.

"Okay, Mom."

With that, they fall back into silence. If the atmosphere had felt thick earlier, now Chan can barely breathe. She's so obviously avoiding a proper explanation that it's painful, but Chan won't push her into it before she's ready.

The way she keeps glancing behind him? She's obviously waiting for his Dad to join them.

That's strange as well. Chan's mother never usually waits for her husband, a fiery determination and a stubborn streak a mile wide. She's usually the first to confront others, although those rules have always been slightly bended when it came to her own children. She was so terrible at lying because it simply wasn't in her nature. 

The fact that she's waiting for company means that it must be something important.

"Mom," Chan says eventually. Softer and slower this time, hoping the edge of worry that's soaked into his tone isn't too obvious. "What's going on?"

She never replies. Before she gets the chance to, a door clicks, the familiar sound of his bathroom light being switched off. She's already stopped looking at him - her eyes went straight to the source of the sound before Chan even had the time to realise where exactly it was coming from. 

It must be the reason why she's acting so strangely. It _has_ to be.

"Is-" his mother says, but she doesn't get any further before Chan turns around himself. Standing in front of the door, using one hand to push it shut behind him, in his father. At first, much like when he'd first entered his apartment, nothing seems obviously wrong. His father looks just as healthy as the last time they'd seen each other, maybe even healthier. There are no obvious differences in the length of his hair or the clothes he's wearing, nothing even as mundane as that.

But something is so obviously wrong. There's something up with both of his parents - the tension in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a knife - and maybe Chan's been looking so closely at his father that he hasn't paid any attention to the bundle of white cloth in his arms.

His father turns around slowly. Most of his chest had been obscured when he'd closed the door, but now the bundle is almost fully revealed. Whatever it is, it's heavy. It's being supported with both hands, and with the type of care usually reserved for things that a fragile. His mother takes a few steps forward until they're side-by-side.

"Chan," she says, "please-"

Can she not find the words? Every sentence seems to be cut into pieces, and Chan's sure that if he opened his own mouth, he'd be exactly the same way. He already knows what's in the bundle. He's just waiting for something to confirm it.

And a confirmation is what he gets.

The bundle sniffles. Chan's father is holding it close to his chest, but that obviously isn't enough as the bundle's noises increase in volume. It's the familiar nonsense of sounds - made by a mouth that isn't old enough to do anything other than cry. Sounds that are upset for no other reason than they just _are_.

Chan's father rocks the bundle slowly, bounding it up and down in his arms. They all seem too afraid to make a noise, as if that's what's going to make the situation become real. The bundle can't read the atmosphere of the room. It doesn't know what it's doing when it starts to cry, and all Chan's hopes of it being anything but a baby are dashed.

"Here," he moves before his mind has a chance to catch up, pulling out a stall from the breakfast bar and pushing it in his father's direction. His gestures for his mother to take the one next to it, and then watches as his parents sit beside each other. He finds that he can't pull out a stall for himself. He's not sure that he wants to sit down. 

From this position, he can see the baby - and it is a baby, there's no denying it now - much more clearly. Its cheeks are red, face the only thing visible through the cloth that's been wrapped around it. There are a few tufts of hair plastered to its forehead. Much more than he'd had at that age, Chan thinks. 

"Chan," his mother says, and there's no hiding the guilt in her voice, "We didn't know how to tell you."

His eyes go wide, before his Mom can even think about what that may seem to imply, he's spluttering out- "The baby is _yours?"_

Luckily, his parents look just as horrified at that insinuation as Chan is. Not that they were bad parents, it's just that they're old. They'd already been aging when they'd had Chan and his siblings, having a baby at the stage of life they were at now would be impossible, for starters, and after that nothing but irresponsible. 

"No!" His Dad is quick to defend, jostling the bundle again, which seems be helping to reduce the volume of its cries. "God, no. He's not ours."

The problem is, that was Chan's only progression of thoughts that had seemed to make sense. With the way that they were acting, it couldn't have just been a friend's that they were looking after for a while. The tension in the air was much too thick for that, and Chan's heart was already in his throat. They wouldn't be glancing at each other that nervously if the baby wasn't to do with them - to do with _him_.

Chan frowns. Why _is_ it to do with him? He's sure he could work it out, even with this little information, but refuses to think about it. Surely not. 

"Then whose is... he?"

Again, his parents glance wordlessly between each other. "Your sister," his Mom starts, "visited us last night. She only stopped for a few minutes, something about a flight leaving soon, and then-"

Her voice trails off.

Chan knows exactly what his sister is like. She's not cruel, as per se, nor is she mean or spiteful. But she's always had thought that the world should treat her a little better than it did. It didn't matter that they'd grown up as a happy family, or that they had enough money that she'd never have to work a day in her life, none of it satisfied her. She filled her time flying from one country to the next.

If she'd been in South Korea last night, it was probably the first time she'd been back in about three years. She hadn't visited Chan the last time, either.

But it wasn't because she was mean, she simply didn't view the world in the same way. In her mind, she didn't care that she hadn't seen her baby brother for a while. To her, that meant that Chan shared the same sentiment. 

He'd long since gotten used to it. They video-called on Christmases and birthdays anyway, and the impression he'd gotten from her lifestyle was that she was much too busy for regular catch-ups. 

And much too busy for a baby, apparently.

"He was in the kitchen." His Dad continues where his mother had left off. "She'd left a note explaining everything, as well as all the legal documents. Knowing her, this is probably the most thought she's put into anything for _years_."

"She just left him?" Chan can't help but ask. "Alone? What if you had decided to go out? How long would he have been alone?"

His mom sighs. That's probably the exact same though process they'd gone through when they'd first found the child. They've had a while to get used to it now, though, so all the initial shock had faded to acceptance. "Honey, that thought probably didn't even cross her mind."

"All that matters is that we were there, and he was fine. No disasters happened, so there's no point worrying about what's in the past now."

That's exactly why his sister acts like that, Chan thinks. He doesn't say it, of course, but he knows that it's true. Deep down, his parents probably know that it's true as well.

"So, what next?" His legs feel a bit stronger now, finally allowing him move from his frozen state. He leans against the counter, trying not to stare at the baby. It's still whimpering, only the volume of his cries has decreased. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Chan realises that he probably just misses his mom. "Why are you here?"

Again, they exchange glances. They know something he doesn't, and they're about to tell him exactly what that is.

"Chan..." his Dad says, rocking the baby back and forth in his arms, "You know we're too old to look after a baby. Even with extra help we could hire, it's not a solution that would work."

"There's limited options here," his mother looks at him, somewhat ashamed. They all know what's coming, even if they're too afraid to say it. "We can't put him in foster care, that wouldn't be right. None of your Aunts and Uncles are any younger than us, either, and your other siblings are very busy."

"I'm busy!" Chan protests.

He _is_ busy! Even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes, and he could just as easily get by with half the effort he currently puts in. He's an overachiever, but that's not a bad thing. If he had something else to take up his time, he'd probably end up with the same results at the end, but that's beside the point.

"You've always wanted kids," his father pleads, "Haven't you? And here's the opportunity, looking you right in the face."

His mother nods along furiously. "We'll fund you completely, honey, so finance wouldn't be an issue. And your sister - this is what she'd want. That's why she left the paperwork with us, so he could be looked after by the family."

They're right.

Chan loves kids, and he's always wanted to have some of his own. But this suddenly, it just doesn't seem right. This isn't what he'd imagined - even if his personal fantasies had never been more specific than laughter and sticky hands coated with chocolate spread. Someone to read books to and tuck into bed at night. Someone who he could help with homework, walking them to school every morning and waving off with a huge smile.

He's just not ready right now, is he? He doesn't know anything about kids. Let alone babies - and even then, he doubts he's ready for the responsibility. There are just so many unanswered questions. Having a baby in the house, it just wouldn't work.

(Would it?)

But his parents have already read the expression on his face, the fact that he's not completely opposed to the idea means that he must want to accept the deal. They're already smiling to each other, shoulders sagging in relief. An enormous weight has been lifted off of them. If he looks closely, he's half-convinced that he can see tears sparkling in his mother's eyes.

"You'll do it?" she says, "Chan, you'll do it?"

"I-"

"Your sister only had one request," his father jumps in, unable to hold the grin back off his face, "She wanted to name him Minho."

He holds out the bundle of cloth, ready for Chan to take.

Except... Chan's still not sure that he _wants_ to take the baby. Even as he reaches his hands out, he's almost certain of what's he's going to say next. An apology, maybe, and then he'll offer to look after the child for a couple of weeks until they can find a better solution. The phrases are spinning around his mind as he pulls the baby close to his chest.

"I-" he starts, looking down at the bundle in his arms. 

Just like that, the words die in his throat. 

The baby smiles up at him, and Chan can't help but smile back. He doesn't recognise the feeling in his chest - not that it's _bad_ , just foreign. It makes his heart beat a little faster, the corners of his mouth quirk up without even realising it, something in his stomach doing backflips. When he looks into the baby's eyes, he can see the reflection of himself. 

Holding the child is different.

He's heavier than Chan would have expected, and all of a sudden, the reality hits him. He's holding a baby - the potential for anything - and it's currently tiny and precious in his arms. So _delicate_. 

His fingers are tiny, even smaller now that Chan can see them properly. The rest of his body is swaddled in cloth, but he's managed to wiggle one arm free and now waves his hand around in the air. He stretches up towards Chan for a moment, hoping to grab onto something that's out of reach, and frowning when he can't quite touch anything.

If his fingers were tiny, his fingernails are even smaller. They're so miniscule that Chan can hardly believe that they're real, set perfectly into his matching fingers and thumb. 

His cheeks are pink with tears, but he's certainly not crying now.

He's looking at Chan, and still reaching up. He's never going to get there - his arms are too short and stubby to do anything, and his movement is more 'flailing around' than actual co-ordination. And he's not crying. He'd been smiling since the moment Chan had taken him into his arms, but that's only just set in now.

Chan doesn't know anything about babies. He's not even sure that he's supporting the baby's head correctly - and that's important, right? If he's holding his head up without enough support, he could damage the baby's neck, right? - but he doesn't know how to correct himself. There's so much that he doesn't know, and it's so important that he doesn't get any of it wrong. 

He's scared. 

Holding this baby, it scares him. 

But it's the kind of fear that shakes the tips of your fingers and then _pulls_ , sending you flying over the edge with no preparation and no regrets, keeping you spinning and twisting mid-air on a simple rush of adrenaline. It’s fear mixed with excitement. Bubbling up with that strange emotion from earlier, the one that he can't identify even now.

Everything that he'd planned to say suddenly seems wrong. It doesn't fit, and when Chan lets his instincts take hold of the situation, he finds that there's only one thing he can do.

When the baby smiles at him, he smiles back.

"Hello, Minho."


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> generic generic generic  
> not much happens folks, turns out that babies aren't that interesting to write since they don't do much
> 
> next chapter will probably include a time skip to when minho's a bit older (aka one-year-old, and i can write him being funny-cute), so hopefully won't be as... weirdly paced as this one

  
Thankfully, Chan's sister hadn't dropped Minho off at their parents’ house as soon as he was born. She must have realised that would be heartless on another level - or maybe she was just too attached to the baby to let him go straight away.

Or maybe it had just taken her that long to reach Seoul, and she’d left him as soon as she probably could.

Either way, it certainly made Chan's job easier. Instead of having a newborn to take care of, he'd worked out that Minho was now old enough to be classified as an 'infant'. The date of birth on the paperwork given to him by his parents declared his birthday to be on the 25th of October. Seeing as it was now early December, he was just over six weeks old. 

He'd Googled what that had meant almost immediately.

Minho was likely to smile and start making more expressions (that one Chan had definitely noticed - Minho seemed to keep surprising himself by realising that his arms actually existed). He'd sleep for around 16 hours total. He'd start to make his own noises, and he'd start to grow incredibly quickly.

YouTube had also been a huge help. While Minho had napped, Chan had consumed what felt like every video created on baby-care. He's learnt how to change a nappy, how to feed a baby properly, what to watch out for and how he should know if anything was wrong. 

His parents had also helped. Before they'd left him alone with the baby - only two hours after they'd dropped him off, citing important business that couldn't be missed - they'd given him a rundown of the basics. Most of the time had been spend reminiscing about how Chan and his sibling had acted when they were kids, which wasn't very helpful but Chan hadn't the heart to complain. He was still in shock, most likely.

All of that preparation leads up to now. Chan is finally alone with a six-week-old baby, and despite the crash-course, he still feels incredibly underprepared.

This is a _baby_ , for goodness sake.

When Minho looks up at him and blinks, he's not just some incredibly realistic doll. He's a real, living, breathing human being. Completely helpless, completely stupid (endearingly, of course, there wasn't much intelligence that could be expected from an infant) and completely dependent on Chan. There isn't anyone to help. There isn't anyone else to tell him what he might be doing wrong. 

Chan stares back at him, blinking every time Minho blinks first. It makes him smile (just like the websites had said), but it does nothing to stop the uncertain feeling his chest. 

Somehow, none of the information from Google and YouTube feels real enough. Maybe he's just looking for an escape from the apartment - Minho is looking bored already, the couple of toys that he has not quite enough to keep him occupied - but he decides that it's probably not a great idea to solely rely on the internet. Even if it ends up still being his primary source of information, he can still get some books to go alongside it. 

They have to be helpful, right? If they aren't, he can just give them to Minho to chew on or something.

There aren't any shops nearby to his apartment. He doesn't have a car-seat yet, and even if he does, Chan doubts he would be confident enough to drive with Minho just yet. Although it's not his preferred option, the only solution left is the library.

Before he can convince himself out of it, he grabs one of the pieces of equipment his parents had taken with them (that they'd specifically bought when Minho had been left with them and taken with them in their car to Chan's apartment. They'd been that sure he'd accept their offer, apparently) - a baby carrier. 

He straps Minho into it, slips it over his front, takes a deep breath, and starts his journey to the library.

Once he gets there, he finds that he didn't have anything to worry about. The five-minute walk had been refreshing, and Minho had seemed to enjoy the cool winter air. The building itself was been easy to find, and there are barely any people inside. They smile at him as he steps inside, heading straight to the help desk to locate the baby-care section.

The librarians are surprisingly nice. 

And when Chan says nice, he doesn't mean that 'direct him to the books he needs and then wave him goodbye' nice. He's not talking about 'compliment Minho and talk to Chan the whole time he's taking out the books' nice.

Oh no, they're much nicer than that.

It gets to the point where every single worker in the building is following him around. Minho is still in the baby-carrier across his front - although a few librarians had asked to hold him, they'd seemed equally as charmed when Chan had explained that he wasn't comfortable letting Minho be held by strangers for now. 

They didn't just direct him to the baby care books, they practically escorted him there. Several of them decided to jump in and give him some of their own advice as well, complimenting Minho with every word. It didn't make matters any better that every time Chan replied to one of them, Minho would gurgle in response. 

That was what really got the librarians to coo, practically squealing over how cute he was. 

When Chan eventually managed to get the books he needed from the shelf and start signing them out, they'd given him an extra couple of weeks extension onto the due date. As he waved goodbye - mentally apologising to the other visitors to the library, who'd been ignored due to the fact that all the workers seemed to be more focused on Chan and Minho than their actual job - several had called out for him to return soon. One had even offered to knit Minho a hat. 

Chan had smiled at that - it was a sweet offer, but he didn't want to force her into making something when he'd most likely be too busy with baby care to remember to pick it up - and left.

Maybe it was silly that his view on the situation had changed after only a few interactions, but he finds himself unable to stop the smile from creeping back onto his face when he's walking back to his apartment. 

Seeing their enthusiasm; it may have been overwhelming, but it was also incredibly inspiring. 

If he'd been uncertain about whether he could actually do this - actually _raise a child_ \- before, he certainly isn't now. 

\---

Chan's apartment had very quickly turned into a mess.

It's what he should have expected, really. Of course, Minho would need lots of stuff - and most parents had time before the baby arrived home to get all the new items they would need. If this was a normal situation, it would have happened over a long period of time. Most parents would have so much time to prepare that they wouldn't even realise how quickly their house had filled up with baby-related... things.

Chan, however, was not in a normal situation. 

And so, when he gets back from the library and sees that his apartment has been taken over by baby paraphernalia, it takes a moment for his mind to start working again. His phone had gone off a while ago - a message from his parents saying they were going to drop off the most urgent items he'd need - he didn't think they were going to give him _this_ much. He can barely see the floor from underneath so many cardboard boxes.

Minho hums against his chest, probably wondering where Chan's heartbeat has gone. Chan smoothes his hand through his hair to soothe him, internally wondering what the hell he's going to do now. Luckily, the other rooms don't look so bad. He can use the second bedroom for storage, and what doesn't fit there can go in his office, since he doubts he's going to be getting much work done anytime soon. 

The most complicated pieces of furniture also look like they've been set up for him, thank goodness. When he steps over a particularly large bag of nappies, he can see a crib - although it's a little bit cramped in there now, so he'll have to shuffle the furniture around later.

For now, however, he just has to work out what the hell to do now. 

The kitchen counter is mostly empty, so Chan heads over in that direction. Trying to get Minho to sleep now is most likely the best course of action. The baby is bound to be tired by now. He hasn't slept properly, apart from the rest he'd gotten on Chan's chest, and it's rather late in the afternoon already. Once he's been fed, it's likely that he'll drop right off.

That would give Chan the chance to grab some proper food for himself - he'll end up making some sort of meal that he can freeze for the future - and pack away some of the boxes on the floor while he's cooking. Even if Minho only sleeps for an hour or so, it should be enough for Chan to start sorting through a good amount. 

Once he's safely made it over to the counter, he holds Minho into the air. His nappy certainly _smells_ clean, and Chan hadn't changed it that long ago.

It's one less job. 

Minho's car seat is nearby - and for the time being, that'll have to do. With a quick apology to the baby, Chan straps him in. It'll be much easier to warm up the formula milk if he's not carrying Minho the whole time, even if he does fuss slightly about being away from Chan's chest. It's got to be better than accidentally spilling something onto his head.

He keeps talking out loud as he works, so Minho knows he's not leaving - he probably can't see much from his position near to the floor.

"Do you even like milk?" He ends up asking at one point, whilst waiting for the various parts of the bottle he'd boiled to cool down. There's another saucepan of boiling water next to him, not quite at room temperature. It's rather boring just watching water on the stove, but he doesn't want to take his eyes away and have to repeat a stage. "What if you grow up and hate milk? What if you're lactose intolerant? Is it _possible_ for babies to be lactose intolerant?"

Probably not, and even if it was, there's not much that Chan can do about it now. He doesn't even know if formula milk comes under the same brand as normal milk, but he'd only bought one brand. That'd have to do. 

Minho, unsurprisingly, doesn't respond to Chan's rambling. He's already pretty early in his development - most babies only started to make noise from six to eight weeks, and Minho is in the earlier part of that bracket. Even though the noises he does make are simplistic, usually just gurgles more than anything else, it still means that he's doing well for a child of his age. 

It doesn't stop Chan from talking to him.

"Don't look at me like that," he tells Minho when he almost drops the freshly-cleaned bottle lid onto the floor, right as he was trying to screw it onto the full bottle of milk, "I'd like to see _you_ doing a better job."

He puts the bottle down onto the coffee table in what used to be the relatively clean living room. It only takes a couple of seconds to clear enough room on the sofa for him to sit down, and travelling through the maze of cardboard boxes a couple more times gives him enough confidence to finally carry Minho over.

Is it just his imagination, or does he already look bigger than he had that morning? Are Chan's arms just more tired, or does Minho actually feel heavier?

He can't think about it for too long, as Minho starts to tear up as soon as they sit down. Chan adjusts him until he's lying against his chest - fairly upright, just like Google had shown him - and shifts his arms until he's supporting Minho's head. 

As soon as he lifts the bottle up with his other hand, Minho's tears completely disappear. He opens his mouth expectantly, closing it immediately when Chan pushes the teat against his lips.

He seems to be attempting to break the speed record of fastest bottle of milk drunk, with how strong his sucks are. Chan has to keep angling the bottle further and further up in an attempt to stop him from drinking any air bubbles.

After a few minutes, though, he starts to slow down, eventually coming to a complete halt. Even with the top of the bottle still in his mouth, Minho seems to look up to Chan as if to say 'Well? Come on, what's next?'

"Let go of the bottle first," Chan tells him, unimpressed. It doesn't work - he still has to tug quite hard to get Minho to release the teat - and in doing so causes him to burst into full on wails. His little face goes bright red, fat tears streaming down his cheeks, and Chan knows that there's nothing he can do.

"You're not getting it back," he says, already moving onto his next job. Even if Minho is crying, Chan still has to pat his back. He holds him over his shoulder (cloth protecting his clothes just in case; he's heard about babies after drinking too quickly, and Minho drinking 'quickly' seemed like an understatement) and pats his back slowly. Gentle, smooth circles, and soon enough they're done.

Minho's cheeks are still pink with anger, but he isn't crying any more. Instead, it's clear that he's tired.

Chan can tell by the way he sniffles, eyes still rimmed with red, and by the way he doesn't protest when he's picked up again. He dribbles onto Chan's shoulder, creating quite an impressive wet patch for the short journey to their bedroom. When Chan lifts him up again, placing him down into the crib, he seems to protest being away from the warmth of another human.

"Yeah," Chan says, raising his eyebrows at the baby, "Nice try. You shouldn't have drooled on me if you wanted to be held for a little longer."

Minho's crib is in the corner of Chan's room. He'd had to push his bed over slightly to make sure that there was enough room, but it wasn't too much of a drastic change. It wasn't like he'd been sharing the room with anyone else. The fact that the double bed was now pushed up against the wall on one side really didn't make any difference at all. 

The cot itself was mostly wooden. It wasn't quite what Chan would have chosen - much too fancy with its own drawer underneath the main frame, and gold accents to the otherwise-white wood. Chan didn't see the point. He's never cared for extravagance, and Minho was way too young to appreciate the money that must have been poured into the gift. 

But, he supposed, it was his parents' way of apologising. What they found they were too awkward to say in person - no one wanted to blame his sister, that would mean admitting they should have raised her differently - they made up for in preparing Chan's house in every other way possible.

The cot was just one part of that. At least it was good quality, and he'd been assured that the complicated looking system of disassembly was actually rather simple. He'd never been any good at putting up furniture, so that was a plus side as well. 

Minho seems to enjoy the new bed. Chan had made sure to change him back into the sleep sack his sister had left him in, so the difference in smell wasn't too obvious and disturbing. There was an ever-growing pile of blankets in the basket next to the crib - including the cloth Minho had been swaddled in - but Chan had read up on infant suffocation and wasn't about to risk Minho's life just so the baby was a little more comfortable. 

The same rule was going to be applied to the plush toys that Chan was planning to buy (or receive, once he told everyone about his sudden acquirement of a baby). Until he was older, Minho was just going to have to deal with an empty cot, even if it was a little more boring. 

Minho gurgles in response to Chan. His face changes expression - maybe into what's supposed to be an imitation of a smile - and it certainly brings a smile to Chan face. The fact that Minho hasn't woken him up three billion times in the middle of the night yet is probably largely contributing to that. As someone who likes his sleep, that's definitely the part that he's the most worried about.

Not that it matters.

As soon as the baby had been pushed into his arms, Minho had immediately become Chan's top priority. If it meant sacrificing his own sleep, well, he'd done it before and he could certainly do it again. He could easily survive off five hours a night due to his hectic work schedule. Most of the worry was from the fact that he was so used to deciding his routine solely for himself. It would be a large jump to have his life so suddenly dictated by someone else.

He could excuse it, though. Minho was a _very_ cute baby.

Leaving him alone is probably the best way of getting him to fall asleep, but Chan can't quite bring himself to leave just yet.

"Go on," Chan says, staring right back into Minho's huge eyes. He's tired - he's obviously tired, he looks like he's about to fall asleep any second now - and yet he's fighting it. Every blink is twice as long as normal. The way his little mouth stretches open to yawn, and then Minho furrows his forehead in confusion of what his body has just done.

He doesn't fall asleep.

"Do you want me to rock you?" Chan asks, hoping for some sort of sign that the baby agrees. "Do you want to roll over? I can un-swaddle you if you like."

Minho blinks slowly again. Chan, for a lack of any other answer, takes that as a response. He unwraps the fabric from around Minho's body, carefully lifting up his chubby arms and legs to cause as little irritation as possible. It's already turning out to be hard enough to get him to go to sleep. He doesn't need anything else that could possibly disturb him. 

Luckily, Minho is tired enough that he simply lets Chan remove the fabric without complaining. He does, however, start to wriggle his tiny body as soon as his arms are set free, so maybe that was what was preventing from falling asleep in the first place

"You're a little gremlin," Chan whispers, his voice fonder than it's ever been before, "How difficult would it have been to tell me that?"

Minho doesn't reply. His eyes are shutting, now, his mouth still making little 'o' formations every now and again. It's highly unlikely that he'll sleep throughout the night - Chan is expecting that he'll be woken abruptly in less than two hours’ time, it's why he's going to bed so early as well - but it's the first time he's setting the baby down for the night.

Setting his _son_ down for the night.

Before leaving, he can't help but reach out. He strokes Minho's cheek, pushing away from pf his downy hair with his thumb. Everything is so small in comparison to Chan's hand, and Minho isn't even a newborn. He's so delicate and perfect, and all Chan can feel is an immense rush of pride.

Slowly, Minho reaches out. His eyes are just slits now - he doesn't have the energy to keep them open for any more than the slightest amount - but he still manages to reach his own hand out. 

For one moment, he grabs onto Chan's hand.

His little fingers wrap around Chan's thumb, squeezing with the last of his baby-strength. It doesn't last long before he lets go, letting his arm go crashing back down. His eyes are properly shut now, and the even rise and fall of his chest is enough to show that he's finally fallen asleep.

Chan sits there for a few moments longer. His heart is in his mouth, hand still burning where Minho had grasped at them. His lungs feel empty of air, but his smile is blinding as he grins into the darkness of the bedroom. 


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea how babies work, rip  
> credit to the baby milestones website which i used as a reference for this entire chapter, which was MEANT TO TAKE MINHO UP TO I YEAR OLD
> 
> who cares, we might still have his first birthday next chapter

  
Time seems to speed up, after that.

Maybe it's because Chan is completely worn out. He'd known that babies were loud - he'd been prepared for sleepless nights after Minho had been with him for one night and immediately proceeded to scream for a good two thirds of it. That's what most people complained about, right? That they were constantly tired.

It's probably part of it.

Chan is young. He's young enough that he still liked to spend a lot of his time awake until unreasonable hours of the morning. He's young enough that he can bounce back from only napping for three days in a row - a skill that's come in handy more times than he'd like to admit. 

And he's always been a bit of a night-owl. Even without Minho waking up every two hours, Chan's still probably getting the same total amount of sleep that he'd had before. The dark bags underneath his eyes haven't grown any darker, and he certainly doesn't feel any more lethargic than usual. In fact, having the urgency of a child has given him _more_ energy - now there's actually places to be, things to do, people to meet.

No, time doesn't just appear to speed up because he's slightly more tired than normal.

It's because Minho grows like a _weed_.

Chan swears his life on it. The baby seems to get heavier every day. His cheeks are soft and round, he's drinking the formula milk Chan gives him well, but it's still surprising how much a child can grow. There barely seems to be enough time for Chan to blink before Minho is another few centimetres taller, smashing another developmental milestone on the head.

He's tearing through the book on baby growth that Chan had picked up from the library at an alarming rate. Although - it's not really an alarming rate, it's exactly the rate that the book had told him was normal, but _still_.

Before, a week had seemed insignificant. 

Time seemed to speed up as you got older. And Chan had been drowning in a sense of monotony. He hadn't been displeased with his life, far from it, but it certainly hadn't had much going for it. It had taken Minho's arrival for him to realise how little he was actually doing, and how much time he was actually letting slip through his fingertips. 

Now, a week seemed...

Well. Minho's book told him that babies at his age were hitting new milestones almost every day. Each morning would bring a new 'first' until he started to slow down with his growth a little - and even then, he's still be experiencing the entire world for the first time. Each moment would be completely new, in a sense, and Minho getting older and bigger was just a by-product of that exploration. 

At six weeks - when he'd come into Chan's care - Minho had just been learning to smile for the first time. 

And at just a week after that, only seven days later, he was beginning to connect his senses. That's what the book had told him was happening, anyway. He'd been half watching Minho whilst making himself lunch. It had been overwhelmingly cute to watch him pick up the rattle and shake it, mind only just beginning to process that the sound he could see was being created by the toy. 

Just like that, every moment seems like it's worth so much more.

At nine weeks, Chan watches as Minho starts to lift his head up. His little neck has to work hard, since his head is so large compared to the rest of his body. He dribbles a little at the effort, and Chan can't quite work out what he's focussing so hard on until-

Ah.

Already, he's gotten attached to an orange cat plushie. Chan had affectionately named it 'Soonie', hoping that the word would help Minho to identify (and maybe even encourage his speech in asking for) the soft toy. One of the legs is already slightly matted, where Minho has taken to sticking the soft fur into his mouth. They have plenty of other toys, of course, but Soonie is Minho's favourite by far. 

He's managed to get the cat stuck a couple of metres away. Chan doesn't know how he'd done it, with some impressive feat of baby-strength. And it's what he's currently trying to look at. Lying on his front, squirming around with chubby arms grasping on everything in reaching distance, practically burning holes into the floor with how hard he’s staring at the he’s plushie. 

Chan tries not to coo from how cute the scene is. He steps away from the stove to pick up the toy, placing it back next to Minho. 

Just like that, there's apparently no further use of keeping his head up. Minho's forehead immediately dips, hitting the soft fabric that he's lying on. 

"If you want to be turned over," Chan tells him, wrapping his hands around the baby and turning him so that he's lying on his back, "You just have to ask. And stop throwing your toys."

Minho responds by kicking his legs up to his chest, grasping at Soonie and sticking her leg in his mouth again. His eyes sparkle as he looks at Chan. Almost as if he knows what he's doing.

Chan can't stop the smile that spreads onto his face, even as he turns back to making lunch. 

It doesn't stop there. At two months, Chan is almost convinced that baby Minho is actually an old man trapped in the body of a baby, since he seems intent on causing as much mischief as a baby that is only just learning to wriggle around can do. 

He learns different sounds at week nine. His eyes go to Chan's mouth when he speaks, watching as his lips form different vowels and consonants. Chan often doesn't have anyone to talk to - the problems of being a single parent, and having family that don't visit too often - but he makes an effort to keep talking to Minho. The way that he responds with giggles and gurgles is more than enough to have Chan half-convinced that he knows exactly what's being spoken to him, and it's bound to be good for his speech development. 

The book says that he can recognise Chan now. They haven't had much of a chance to test it out yet - again, Chan doesn't have many friends that he's that close to, and taking care of a baby all by himself is unsurprisingly time consuming. 

Still. Minho does a gleeful wriggle whenever Chan approaches, and that's more than cute enough anyway.

He also discovers that his hands exist.

Chan remembers watching babies when he was younger, and being amazed that they didn't even know what parts of their bodies actually existed. Watching Minho discover that he actually has control over his hands is still as amusing as he'd found it all those years ago.

"Here," he keeps finding himself saying, passing yet another strangely-textured item to Minho, "What do you think about this one?"

If he had a whiteboard, he'd be convinced to start a rating chart on Minho's reaction to each object. With soft items, he tends to try and stick them into his mouth straight away. Well, they all make their way into his mouth eventually, but there's usually less of a delay with soft toys and scarves.

Chan's phone is full of photos. He'd taken a video of Minho's reaction when Chan had passed him an ice cube, and it's genuinely the funniest thing he's ever seen. 

Minho smiles at first, seeing Chan and reaching out, only to be quickly distracted by what's being handed to him. He's lying on his back, feet kicking up. Babies have surprisingly strong grip, Chan has learnt, as Minho keeps deciding to grab fistfuls of his hair. He grips onto the ice easily, bringing it towards his chest on instinct, and then-

He freezes. In the video, Chan can practically see the tiny cogs in his mind whirring. The fact that whatever he's holding is hard and wet and _cold_. His eyes widen in surprise that quickly morphs to shock. 

After a few moments, he bats the cube away with a horrified expression. It's cold outside - this isn't his first experience with the temperature - but the whole _'cold being inside? cold being able to be touched?'_ thing must have him a little confused. The video ends there, complete with Chan bent-double with laughter in the background audio. 

As he gets older, he also starts to stay awake for longer periods of time.

By three months, he's even managed to start rolling over. Chan walks into the room when he'd thought Minho had been sleeping, ready to start the day, only to find that Minho is already awake. He gurgles as Chan gets closer - he's been doing that a lot more lately, with proper giggles and laughs as well - and then kicks his legs to one side.

Chan watches, eyebrows raised. "What are you trying to do, huh?" He asks, as Minho kicks up that side of his body again. He's started doing that, but almost exclusively on his left side. Chan had been worried at first, but the book had assured him that most babies favoured movement on one side more than the other. 

Minho frowns back at him. His face is screwed up in concentration. He's even balled his fists up into tiny balls, clutching them at his sides. He's gone slightly pink from the effort.

"I literally just changed your nappy an hour ago," Chan tells him. "Don't even _think_ about it."

Minho, predictably, doesn't respond. He doesn't even react, instead kicking up again. Chan is just about to turn to leave - food won't make itself, and he probably doesn’t have long before Minho gets frustrated and starts to cry - but the sound of moving fabric causes him to stop in his tracks. 

What was that?

"Minho?"

When he turns around, he's greeted with a very smug baby. Minho had been left on his back - Chan had seen him in that position only a couple of seconds ago - and yet now he's very much on his front. He looks so smug about the fact that he rolled himself over that Chan can't even be bothered to think about the fact that 'oh no, Minho's actually learning to move himself'. 

The fact that he can roll himself over is both a blessing and a curse. He doesn't have to worry as much about specifically placing Minho on his front, so his neck and arm muscles can develop. When Minho wants to turn over, he's half-way there to learning how to do it himself.

However, gone are the days where Chan could leave Minho somewhere only _relatively_ safe. Before, although it hadn't happened too often, he could leave Minho in the middle of a bed or on the seat of the sofa, safe in the knowledge that the baby was basically stranded there without Chan's help.

Now, Minho can just roll himself off of the side. He'd probably laugh at Chan as he crept ever closer to the edge, gurgling to himself as Chan threw whatever he'd been holding and raced over to stop him from toppling to the floor. 

All Chan can do is dread the time when he can actually crawl.

Not that that comes next, of course. From four to five months, it's Minho's speech that actually starts to improve, although calling it 'speech' is still a stretch. It's more of a babble. Strings of letters that don't actually mean anything, no matter how long Chan sits in front of him repeating the same few syllables over and over again.

He won't actually learn to speak until, well, Chan's not quite sure. He'd done some research and gotten rather conflicted results. Google had told him that most babies said their first words (that they actually meant, not just connecting sounds) from ten to fourteen months old. Babbles would increase in frequency from five months onwards, which is probably what's happening now.

Minho does start to repeat, though. Nothing that's actually being formed from his own mind, just the similar sounds to what Chan says to him first.

"Daddy," he spends a whole afternoon repeating, trying not to get Minho get bored - something that sound much easier than it actually is. "Can you say that, Min? Daddy."

"Mm," Minho says, much more interested in shaking Soonie and trying to bite her tail than actually forming sounds. "Mmih."

"That's nowhere near to what I was trying to get you to say."

"Mmmih. Mm."

It sounds like he's trying to say his own name, and so Chan decides to go for that angle instead. "Can you say Minho then? Minho. That's you, Minho."

"Mmih."

"Min-ho."

"Mm."

It doesn't feel like he's going to get much further than that. By the look on Minho's face, it's clear that he's regarding this as more of a game than anything else. He's hearing the sounds and just letting similar ones come out of his own mouth. There's no understanding there, which is understandable.

Chan isn't one for giving up, though: he makes sure to borrow children's books from the library, putting Minho on his lap and pointing to each picture individually. He lets Minho run his fingers over the glossy card pages, and tries not to laugh at each garbled attempt to say 'moo' or 'baa'.

It seems like his first word is either going to be 'Min' as a shortened form of Minho, or some sort of nickname for Soonie. 'Nee' seems to be a common sound that he makes, and Chan quickly works out that it refers to the cat plushie. He really loves the soft toy.

That's why it comes as such a surprise when, at six months, he's changing Minho's nappy and the baby looks right up at him. "Dada."

Chan almost drops everything he's holding. "What? What did you say?" He's not sure why he's asking when he definitely heard what Minho said, but maybe it could just be down to sleep-deprivation. 

Minho stares back up at him. Already, he's moved on from speaking, distracted by cooing at the lights reflecting onto the ceiling. He stretches his hands up to try and touch them, wriggling so desperately that Chan has to hold his hips down to the changing mat. 

As much as he'd like to sit down from complete and utter shock, that's just not an option right now. With his heart feeling like it's about to beat right out of his chest, he gets back to work with changing Minho's nappy. He'd been almost done, and luckily Minho doesn't tend to be too fussy when he's distracted. With the lights above him providing entertainment, Chan is pulling Minho's clothes back over his tiny body only a couple of minutes later.

Still, he hasn't quite caught his breath.

Oh _god_.

He hadn't been imagining it, had he. Minho really had called him 'dada' - as close to Daddy as he's going to get for the moment. And it's making Chan's heart do backflips. Just like when he'd held Minho for the first time, it's like life has suddenly gained a little more clarity. Just like then, it's like everything is suddenly becoming real.

He has a _kid_. 

And he wouldn't change it for the world; Minho is the best thing that's ever happened to him, and goddamnit if he loves that baby more than anything else on the planet. But it still feels almost surreal that this is going to be his life _forever_. 

Minho huffs, annoyed that he's lost Chan's attention. He's getting better at amusing himself now that he's slightly older, but his entire world still revolves around Chan. Any time he's left alone for longer than fifteen seconds without constant distraction immediately leads back to him getting grumpy.

"Stop it," Chan tells him, even though he's already standing up and scooping him into his hands, ready to set him down with some toys in the living room, "Let me have my mental breakdown in peace. It's literally all your fault, you know that?"

Minho just smiles in satisfaction. This is his favourite place to be - in Chan's arms. He'll get squirmy as he gets older, too busy exploring the limits of the world to be content with being held. But for now, it's just the two of them and it's perfect. 

He sets Minho down quickly, despite the protesting. 

He's gained so much more control of his movement now; it's honestly astounding how quickly he's developing. Chan had spent ages last month making sure that he was getting all the upper-body exercise that he needed. He could already creep - drag himself around on his stomach solely using his arms - but the actual muscle co-ordination needed to make the next step to crawling was impressive.

"There you go."

Minho looks up at him, rolling from his back onto his front. He's become an expert, mastering his turns from both sides and in both directions. The action means that he has to take his eyes away from Chan for a moment, and-

Well, babies aren't known for their long attention spans. In moving, Minho catches sight of the TV remote lying on the floor a couple of metres in front of him. Chan had been prepared to sit for a few moments - making the most of playing with Minho before he got bored - but he doubts that that's going to happen now.

Minho is _obsessed_ with the TV remote.

That's why it's on the floor. Every time Minho sees it his eyes go wide. Chan has no idea why, surely, it's just plastic, but he has a feeling that Minho would disagree. He's not actually allowed to get too close (his immediate reaction would be to stick it into his mouth, and Chan's not sure that's particularly sanitary), but that doesn't stop him from starting to move immediately.

In a stroke of genius, Chan has been using it to encourage Minho to crawl. The more he practices, the better he'll become, right? 

Hopefully.

Minho's on a mission now, completely focused on getting towards the remote. Chan has to try not to laugh when he shuffles around so that he can see Minho's face. His expression is so concentrated - eyebrows furrowed, lips stuck out, eyes barely moving from the spot - that it's comical. 

And maybe-

Well, Chan's heart is still beating at the speed of light. His head is still slightly giddy, the ground still feels a little soft beneath his hands. 

If he lets Minho reach the TV remote just this one time, well. No one has to know. 


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so maybe i don't know how to end chapters

  
Minho's little hat keeps falling off of his head.

It's not surprising, really. Chan had put the party hat onto his head and fastened the elastic underneath his chin _knowing_ that it wouldn't last long. With his constant movement, his chin would probably be rubbed raw within five minutes, not helped by Minho trying to take it off every time Chan looks away. The hat isn't meant to be worn without the elastic. Much like any other cheap cardboard party hat, without the support of the elastic, there's almost no way for it to balance.

But Minho likes wearing the hat. 

He likes that it's silver and sparkly, and Chan had let him stick cat stickers all over the cardboard yesterday. Every time he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he stops and stares, yelling for Chan at the top of his lungs to try and get him to come look as well. Nonsensical strings of sounds - and then "Ha! Ha!"

Hat, he's trying to say.

"Yes, you are wearing a hat," Chan tells him, after Minho tugs at his trousers for what feels like the twentieth time in ten minutes. "It's so sparkly, I know. But Daddy's busy at the moment, I'll come and look later, okay?"

_ Busy _ is an understatement. Although he'd spent a lot of last night preparing - Minho had actually slept rather consistently for once - there was still a lot to be done. The cake wasn't iced yet, the presents that were already open needed to be put away, and he needed to keep an eye on Minho the whole time.

Easier said than done. Who knew that birthday parties could be this difficult?

As expected, Chan's sister was nowhere to be seen. His parents weren't around either - they'd gone on a cruise a few weeks ago, not even stopping to think that the two months spent travelling around the world would mean they'd miss their grandson's first birthday. 

It was only when Chan had received pictures of them sunbathing - the first he'd heard about the trip, only managing to work out the missing context from how many times this had happened before - that he'd told them. They'd seemed apologetic of course, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

For his first birthday, it would just have to be Chan and Minho alone.

"Ha!" Minho says again, tugging at Chan's clothes again. He's pouting, frowning with such thunder on his face that you'd think Chan had been ignoring him for hours. He's clutching the hat in his hand. Apparently, he hadn't liked the fact that he couldn't see it when it was on his head. He hadn't liked when Chan had put his own golden hat on either. 

Chan sighs, putting down the buttercream icing that he'd been working on. Even with no one around to eat any cake with them, it had seemed a little too sad not to make one. He'd settled for a small victoria sponge in the end - just enough for Minho, who wasn't supposed to get too much sugar, and for Chan to finish off over the next two weeks. 

About half of the cake is iced. A thin layer of buttercream over the sponge and then he'd bought some cheap tubes of piping icing to draw Soonie on the very top. It would be nice to finish it in one go, but that's not likely to happen.

"Okay," he says, scooping Minho into his arms and resting the baby on his hip, "Last time for now, okay? I'm getting a surprise for you."

Minho either doesn't care about the surprise, or he's too distracted by seeing himself in the mirror to listen. His face splits into a grin as soon as he sees his reflection, jabbing one chubby fist into the air and using the other to smash the hat onto the top of his head. Chan helps him to adjust it (straightening out the dents in the cardboard and popping the top of the cone back up), and then steps closer to the mirror. 

"Ha!" Minho says again, beaming. He waves frantically at his reflection, and Chan can't help the smile that slips onto his own face. "Dada!"

"Yes, it's Daddy," Chan says, "And who's that? Who's the baby?"

"Mih!"

"You're right! It's Minho!" Chan takes another step forward. "You're so smart, Min. And you're such a _big boy_. One year old already, soon you'll be drinking irresponsibly and failing mock exams. Oh, how time flies."

Minho doesn't pay attention to any of that. The words go flying over his head; instead, he leans forwards and lets go of his hat in order to wipe his hands down the mirror. They leave identical smears, and Chan's smile is a little too strained to be completely relaxed, but-

He's gotten used to it, over the past eleven months. Now that Minho knows how to walk - still wobbling every so often - nothing is safe. Chan had only thought to baby-proof the apartment a couple of weeks before Minho could really get along by himself, and it had only just been soon enough. Suddenly, he couldn't remember what the rooms looked like without plastic covers on the sharp corners of tables, or when he used to be able to leave things less than a metre off of the ground.

Minho is relatively well-behaved though, something Chan will never stop being proud of.

Although he's only one and there's still a long way to go, he seems more interested in playing with Soonie (soon to have a friend - Chan's present of another cat plushie was still wrapped up in the middle of the room) than wrecking the house. He's inquisitive, as most toddlers are, but Chan is still his favourite person in the whole entire world. 

(Sometimes, Chan feels a little bad that it's only the two of them, though. He tries to get Minho talking to other people, but there aren't as many chances for him to meet other kids as you'd think. Sometimes, Chan wonders what it would be like if it weren't just the two of them.)

Maybe he's just a little shy. That's perfectly normal for toddlers, so maybe he'll just grow out of it. Chan sees kids smiling at strangers all the time - wide toothy grins and chubby hands waving in the air. Maybe Minho will grow in confidence, and Chan can watch as he shows his smile off to the entire world.

He's getting a little ahead of himself here. Minho's only one. They still have years ahead of them, even if time seems to be flying past so quickly that Chan can barely remember to stop and think about the present.

"Ha!" Minho says again, turning from the mirror and frowning at Chan. There's a pout on his lips and he's beginning to get squirmy, a sure sign that he wants to be put down. One of his hands has found its way into Chan's hair, gripping tight.

"You want to be let down?" Chan asks, even though he already knows what the answer is. He uncurls Minho's fingers until he can safely be put down without causing Chan to go bald. His little legs are moving before they've even touched the ground, and he's quick to drop to his knees to crawl over the hat.

Safe in the knowledge that he's going to be occupied for at least a few more minutes, Chan takes a step back. "I'm going to go back to the kitchen," he says - he's never quite understood how much of what he says Minho can actually understand, but the more he speaks, surely the more Minho will learn - "I'll be back soon."

Minho doesn't look up. Soonie is lying on one of the sofas nearby, and so that's already become another mission to reach. The one-year-old, just like his age, has a one-track mind. Chan wouldn't be surprised if he'd been too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that he was being spoken to.

Luckily, the cake doesn't take long to ice.

The second half is significantly messier than the first, but Chan's realised that no one is going to be seeing apart from him and Minho anyway. They can take photos for his parents (and his sister if she'd like them, although he'd only ever send them if she asked, and that hasn't happened once in the year that Minho's been here), but they don't have to feature the cake at all.

Besides, the faster he moves now, the more likely it is that Minho will stay in a good mood. Despite getting a lot of rest last night, his emotions are just as temperamental as any other toddlers - meaning that he can go from happy to bawling his eyes out in a matter of three seconds.

There's a lot that's gone on today already. Anything different is likely to tire him out, and so Chan has to work quickly if he wants to have the party done before Minho ends up having a breakdown. 

The cat outline ends up being slightly wonky, but Chan's still proud of it. He puts the cake back into the fridge just in time - as soon as the plate touches the shelf, the apartment is filled with an ear-splitting wail.

Chan's heart drops. He closes the fridge door with much more force than necessary, sprinting through the kitchen and back to the source of the sound. The living room. Where he'd left Minho all alone, so sure that he'd be fine, so sure that it would only be a couple of minutes. He'd been so confident that nothing would happen. But what if it had? He'd never be able to forgive himself.

"Min?" He calls, using the doorframe to propel himself, "Minho? Are you okay? Where are you?"

Once he enters the living room, it doesn't take long to spot the toddler. He's sat in the middle of the room, face bright red with the volume that he's screaming at. It doesn't even seem like he's angry - which wouldn't be ideal, but so much better than him having gotten injured - just... _sad._

"Minho, I'm here baby, are you okay?" He goes to scoop Minho into his arms on instinct, only to be pushed away. His arms are flailing in the air, making it impossible for Chan to get close again, and his eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that he mustn't be able to see anything. 

Chan takes a deep breath. His heart is still racing, he still doesn't know why Minho's crying, but at least there doesn't seem to be any imminent danger. He has enough time to try and remember what the parenting books had told him, no matter how much his heart is just telling him to throw away all logic. 

What first?

Minho looks inconsolable at the moment. A quick scan of the room shows that it doesn't look like anything has harmed him, and a slightly more detailed look at Minho shows that he doesn't look injured at all. Nothing is out of place or obviously _wrong_. He'd even managed to get Soonie down from where she'd been before, although the cat plushie now lies abandoned a few metres to Minho's left. 

Since it doesn't look like he's been harmed, the problem is likely going to be more difficult to solve. Chan's head has stopped spinning quite as much, thankfully. Kids throw tantrums for the sake of crying and getting attention all of the time. Just because Minho doesn't do it often doesn't mean that it's never going to happen.

"What do you want?" Chan asks, raising his voice slightly so he can be heard over Minho's wails. "You want Soonie? You want to see me? I'm right here, Min."

Amazingly, it actually does cause a change in Minho's cries.

Whereas before he'd been full-on sibbing with his eyes shut and his cries hadn't been faked at all, he's obviously running out of energy now. Kids tend to cry for attention, Chan realises, and it's only now - when the difference in how Minho sounds is so obvious - that he can really start to tell the difference.

Now, his cries have merged into 'I'm not that sad anymore, but I still want the attention'. He isn't waving his arms around anymore. It's likely that he pushed Chan away the first time simply because he didn't realise Chan was there. Now that he knows he's not alone anymore, his wails have morphed from real, actual fear to putting on a show.

Chan runs a hand through his hair. He takes a chance- "Minho, can I pick you up?"

Minho's not going to answer, but his body language is enough of a tell. His arms are very firmly by his sides, and when Chan reaches over to pull him to his chest, he doesn't protest. Taking that as a good sign, Chan adjusts their position until he's sat on the sofa, Minho cradled in his lap. He'd picked up Soonie on his way, and places the plushie in his hands, watching as Minho turns his entire body to curl into Chan.

His face is still red. The tear tracks down his cheeks have dried, and his cries are beginning to fade. He doesn't have the energy to keep them going when he's already gotten what he'd come here for - Chan's attention. It's likely that their position isn't helping, simply making him more _sleepy_ than anything. 

That's... not great.

Minho still has two naps a day, and they're on a pretty strict schedule. Napping now - although it may seem like a good solution at the moment - would only be temporary. He'd feel rested today, and then tomorrow would be absolute.

Chan waits until Minho's sobs have completely disappeared, leaning into soft sniffles, and then starts to bounce his legs slightly. Anything to keep him from drifting off, whilst starting to get his energy levels to rise at the same time. After this, they'll open the presents and have some cake. That should be enough to bring them to Minho's second naptime, and Chan can deal with the inevitable birthday party mess. 

"You feeling better now, baby?" He asks, wrapping his hands around Minho's middle so he's a little more secure, "Hmm?"

Minho is still pouting, but now he's even lost the red in his cheeks. He lets his head bounce up and down in time with Chan's legs, clutching Soonie tightly. When Chan gives a slightly larger push - using his arms to lift Minho completely off of his legs for a second or two - he can't help but smile.

This isn't a solution that'll work forever. In fact, Chan usually curses how easily distracted toddlers are. But now, at this very moment in time, it feels more like a blessing.

"Yeah?" He says, lifting Minho up again.

This time, he gets the reaction he normally would. Minho's face can't help but smile, his body can't help but shake with the force of his giggles. He shrieks when Chan lifts him up again, kicking his little legs with delight.

They stay there, repeating the same action over and over again for a few more minutes. Minho doesn't seem to get tired, squealing with the same enthusiasm each time, but Chan's arms are beginning to ache. Time to move onto the next part of his plan - what's bound to hype Minho up so much that the energy should last long enough to keep him going until naptime. 

"Higher?" he asks, one last time. Minho laughs again, and then he frowns. Chan had lifted him up at the same time as standing up. It gave one super-big push, and then Minho was set onto the floor.

"Dada," he said, frown deepening. "Dada." He pulled on Chan's shirt, reaching up to ball his little hands into the fabric and tug. His lower lip jutted out, and they were rapidly getting closer to losing the good mood that Chan had spent so long working up.

Chan simply smiles down at him. "You want to be lifted up again? How about something even better, baby."

"Dada," Minho says again, pulling his shirt a little harder. 

But Chan has just enough time to avoid disaster. He pulls out his phone, thanking any sort of deity above that he'd left his phone connected to his speaker this morning, thinking it would be useful for playing a 'happy birthday' song. It only takes a few moments for him to open the music app, click onto the playlist labelled 'Minho' and press shuffle.

Immediately, music fills the room.

Minho's mouth stays open. He'd just been about to call for Chan again, but the sound had distracted him before he could remember to shut it again. As the song fills the apartment, he takes a few more seconds to actually realise what's happening.

Once he does, the grin that splits his face into two is contagious. He laughs, forgetting all about his mild tantrum earlier and how close he'd been to getting upset again. All that matters now is the music, and there's only one thing that can be done to music.

Dance.

Chan watches as he starts to jump, stretching out his arms and stumbling from leg to leg. His little hands move up and down in his concentration, and his expression is so bright with happiness that it makes Chan's heart sing. 

It's not the type of music that Chan thought toddlers would like, but he can't really complain. He'd never listened to much classical music before - although the range of genres in his playlists were always quite large, there had been nothing instrumental at all. He's still not sure how Minho had even managed to listen to any classical music in the first place.

He'd loved it, though.

Maybe he'd seen it on the television. Accompanied by beautiful shots of ballerinas, all puffy skirts and silk shoes. Chan had never been a huge fan of the dance - much like the music - but Minho...

His dancing now is clearly an imitation of what he'd seen in the media. The way he lifts his arms up has got to be a clumsy pirouette (or whatever they're called, Chan's pretty sure that his one-year-old son knows more about ballet than he does), and his stumbling could easily be an attempt to walk on tiptoes.

He looks so happy. 

Chan's smile mirrors the one on Minho's face. When Minho stumbles past him, stomping his feet and wiggling around, he joins in, revelling in the way that Minho laughs gleefully. Together, they dance to the song, twirling and circling around each other. Chan lifts Minho into the air and carefully spins him.

The cake is still in the fridge. The present - with the cat plushie still inside - is still waiting to be unwrapped. 

Yet Chan's already sure that he's made Minho's birthday worth it.

(And he's got an idea for Minho's second birthday present, for when he's a bit older and he can appreciate instructions a little more. He can imagine a pair of ballet shoes on the rack next to the door, and he can hear the apartment filling with classical music all the time. He smiles.)


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i was having the biggest writer's block for this chapter for ages. then yesterday i picked it up randomly and did the entire thing in a day. hopefully this means that there shouldn't be such massive breaks between chapters again lmao

"Why can't I have a little brother?"

Minho is lying across the arm of the sofa, back pressed against the fabric and head completely upside down. Chan can't imagine that the position is that comfortable, but Minho doesn't seem to mind. Asking him whether his back hurts is just a sure-fire way to make sure that he does it even more. 

Instead, Chan raises his eyebrows. "You want a little brother?"

"Everyone else at preschool has a brother." Minho folds his arms, arching his back for a little more stability. He can only do it for a few moments before he loses his balance and flops back down, but the emphasis is still there. "They've got big brothers that play football with them and stuff."

Chan doubts that _everyone_ has a brother. He certainly doesn't himself, and he's sure that Minho isn't the only one without a sibling. There's most likely a little bit of exaggeration going on here, but he makes a note of the page he was on and closes his book anyway.

There's a spark in his chest.

Minho had grown up so quickly that he'd never really thought about having other children around the house. It had seemed like a possibility when he was a baby, and things were less chaotic, but then reality had come crashing down around him. He wasn't sure how he'd even manage to obtain another child, let alone whether Minho would be able to deal with the shift in their family dynamics.

The apartment had room for another bed, but not much more than that. He'd have to share a bathroom with someone other than Chan, he wouldn't have all the attention to himself the whole time. There'd be someone else to fight over the TV remote with, there would be someone cuter and younger and _always there_.

And so that had been the end of that train of thoughts.

Instead, Chan had focused on learning how to take care of Minho in the best way that he could. He'd read so many children development books, and yet he still seemed to know nothing when faced with reality. Even now, with Minho at four years old, Chan couldn't help but feel like he was just making it all up.

"I thought you didn't like football?"

Minho pulls a face. "I _don't."_

"Then why do you want a brother that can play football with you?"

"I don't!" Minho repeats, rolling his eyes. He'd picked up that motion from preschool as well, and now proceeded to overuse it at every possible moment. "Don't be silly, Daddy. I want a little brother, and babies can't play football. They're too little and they'd get stepped on and stuff."

Chan doesn't mention the fact that Minho had been the one to bring up football in the first place. He also doesn't question why Minho's first thought of 'babies playing football' seemed to be using the child as the ball. 

Instead, he hums his acknowledgement. 

Once, when Minho was about two years old, he had looked up adoption.

It was the only option, really. Chan's sister wasn't likely to make the same mistake twice - even the one or two times she'd met Minho, she barely had any idea how to interact with a child. Chan couldn't blame her, not really. She'd never wanted children, and she seemed perfectly content to stick to that decision. If anything, having Minho only made her even more content with her childless lifestyle. 

Besides, adoption seemed like the morally right thing to do. Chan wanted to help people, he'd heard about kids in the system and knew that he could do something to make someone's life a little better. But that only served to surface another problem: if he was adopting, he wasn't sure whether he'd want to adopt younger than Minho.

Maybe it was just a ploy by the media, but in Chan's opinion, but it did seem like older kids were less likely to be adopted. And even if Minho was desperate for a younger sibling, Chan was certain that even if he managed to pass through the waiting list successfully, the waiting list was probably years-long.

But adopting had its own problems as well. Chan was still young, he likely wasn't old enough to adopt a teenager, no matter how much of a positive impact he could have on their life. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to have such an age range of children around the apartment, not if he didn't know how to deal with the issues that came with that. 

It seemed like a lose-lose scenario, and so Chan had given up. He'd pushed the thought to the back of his mind, forced himself to forget, and focused on Minho instead. If he was being honest, he hadn't thought along those lines seriously for a long time. Aside from those small moments of weakness, where his heart seemed like it could grow to love so many more people, he refused to think about it.

Until now.

"So?" Minho pushes himself up from the sofa, flopping onto his stomach and therefore half-over Chan's lap as well. "Can I? Can I get a brother?"

"Minho, it's not that easy."

"Why not?" Minho pouts, "Some've my friends go sayin' that their parents said they were acc-i-dents, so it can't be _that_ difficult."

Suddenly, Chan is very glad that he wasn't drinking anything. If he had been, he's sure that he would have spat it everywhere, and Minho wouldn't have appreciated that at all. Instead, he simply chokes on air for a good few seconds.

"Are you okay, Daddy?"

"I'm-" Chan wheezes, between coughs, "Fine."

He could manage, couldn't he?

He doesn't know much about fostering, but it seems like the perfect solution. There's enough information in the back of his head - from a mixture of films he's sure are inaccurate, and angsty books he'd read as a teenager - but he's mature enough now to tell fiction from reality. When he'd looked into adoption, he'd read up on fostering as well.

Not much, but just enough for his heart to swell a little larger. A little more hope finding its way there.

He can look at this logically. 

There's enough room. He's not sure if a foster child would need a separate room, but the apartment does actually have three bedrooms. They're currently using the third as a pseudo-storage unit, but it likely wouldn't take long to sort out. It wouldn't be very big, but it was certainly large enough.

And money wasn't a problem either. He needed a stable salary to adopt, he knew that, so it would be the same for fostering, wouldn't it? He knew that there were financial benefits to fostering a child - so if he proved that he wasn't in it for the money, surely that made him a much more likely candidate already.

And-

Chan wants to make a difference.

"Well, why'd you cough then?" Minho asks, wrinkling his nose. "Are you ill? Daddy, are you ill?"

"I'm not ill, don't worry." This is not the right time to get lost in his thoughts. He doubts his mind is going to stop thinking about it for the rest of the day, but he should at least wait until Minho goes to bed before acting on it. Right now, he's got to focus on the child that he already has. 

"I wasn't worried."

Chan smiles for a second - thinking that Minho was getting defensive about his concern - until the reality of his tone hits him. He hadn't sounded defensive, he'd sounded indifferent.

"Well, you're supposed to be. Not worried, maybe, but concerned. Like I'd be concerned if you were ill."

Minho frowns. "Yeah, but when you get ill then you don't stop me from watchin' all the TV I want. Normally you just say that my eyes are gonna go square-y, but when you're ill you're cool!"

"I'm always cool," Chan says, defensively, before realising that there's no point arguing with a four-year-old. No matter what he says, Minho will always have a retort. Even if it doesn't quite make sense. The only way to end this conversation is to use Minho's own logic against him. "Besides, if I were _really_ ill, I wouldn't be able to make you dino nuggets. That wouldn't be cool either, huh?"

Minho pouts. His eyebrows have screwed up, trying to think of a proper response, but eventually he gives up. 

There are more important things to think about, apparently. Four-year-olds have got so much to do, so much to learn and explore that they can't waste too much time on arguments that aren't worth it. 

"I guess. Can we have dino nuggets tonight, Daddy?"

Chan pauses. They don't have any dino nuggets in the freezer, but it's been a while since Chan last went for a supermarket shop. That would easily fill the afternoon, and would save him from making the trip a couple of days later anyway. 

Sure, it wouldn't be the healthiest meal, but Minho deserved a treat every now and again. He complained a surprisingly small amount for a four-year-old, and actually ate most of his vegetables without complaint. There were the few exceptions, of course, but most of it went down without a problem.

Chan could point to the three hundred child-raising books he'd read for that. Some of them had made some really interesting points about children’s' potential relationships with food, and so Chan had made it his personal goal to keep as open-minded as possible. And, unsurprisingly, it had paid off in the end. 

It wouldn't matter if they had dino nuggets tonight, not really. As long as he put some baked beans on the side, or peas or something. 

"You know what?" Chan stands up, causing Minho to topple off the side and onto the carpet - in a fit of giggles. "Sure. How would you fancy a supermarket trip, Min?"

"A long one?"

He means to the supermarket slightly further out of town. Chan only tends to go there for the massive shops, since they stock so much more than the smaller, local store. The cupboards are still pretty full, the freezer has enough food to last them the next half a week. "No, to the one by the park. You remember that one?"

Minho's face lights up. "The park with the swings? And the slide?"

"That's the one."

"And- and the round-about? And those rocky-horses?"

"Yep, that one. Well done for remembering that much, Minho! You must be an expert on that park, you managed to name so many things."

Minho preens under the praise obviously, cheeks flushing with self-pride. "I'm a sp- spert." He manages. "Are we gonna go now? Right now, Daddy?"

"Right now?" Chan, honestly, wouldn't expect anything else. Minho thinks, Minho says, Minho does. Those three actions are very closely linked together, often not quite in that order, and they all happen at roughly the same time. He doubts that he even remembers that they're going to the supermarket as well at this point; the park must be playing significantly on his mind.

Minho looks at him expectantly.

Chan smiles, trying to hide his grin rather unsuccessfully. He knows what Minho is waiting for. They have a little bit of a competition going on, the two of them. When they go on spontaneous trips - more often than Chan would like to admit, but that just comes with being a single parent, he supposes - they've started to race each other to see who can get ready first.

Minho 'wins' often enough that the competition rarely ends in tears. And Chan makes sure that he loses just enough to keep him from getting arrogant. It's the perfect plan - _and_ it means that there's no dilly-dallying in the doorway. 

"Uh huh!" Minho's already getting in position. He's bent down in a strange mockery of the position runners do before they take off, legs all bending the wrong ways and losing his balance every five seconds. He's already concentrating hard. Chan can see his tongue sticking out in his effort to listen properly.

Just to tease him, Chan pauses.

It's a long enough break that Minho looks away from the door, glancing up to Chan in confusion. Except, that's exactly what Chan had been waiting for. 

"Go!" He shouts, whilst Minho is distracted. It feels cruel to tease the four-year-old, but the way Minho laughs as Chan vaults over some toys on the floor is worth it. 

Minho's already lost in a fit of giggles. He's fast, though, even if he's not very co-ordinated. He can easily slip around the corners that Chan has to take more slowly, and he uses his socks to slide across the wooden floors with an expert glide. He shrieks as he crashes into the front door, using it as a way to stop his movement mid-slide.

"I'm gonna win!" He says, pulling his shoes out from the shelf next to the door. He hoists himself up onto the side, face screwed up as he desperately tries to slip them onto his feet. "I-m-"

His voice trails off. Apparently, he hasn't quite mastered multi-tasking. His sentence hangs in the air unfinished, abandoned in favour of concentrating on his shoes. They're Velcro, so he can fasten them up himself, although Chan has been trying to teach him to tie his laces (albeit without much success).

He goes to grab his coat from the hook - and then cackles evilly when Chan has to pause tying up his own laces in order to help him. They're hung up a little too high for Minho to reach on his own, but they've long since established that Chan has to help anyway, no matter the effect it might have on his time. 

Before long - Chan's still half-way through his second shoe - he's standing proudly next to the door, grinning so bright that the entire room has been lit up. 

"Done!"

"Are you?" Chan finishes tying the loop (that he definitely hadn't restarted three times over) and straightens up. "Let me see, then?"

Minho proudly twirls, arms outstretched. The Velcro on his shoes is a little wonky, but it's good enough that it'll at least last until they've left the apartment complex. His coat is zipped up correctly as well.

"You are!" Chan says, "And you beat me again. Not by much though, one of these days I'm going to catch up."

"Nuh-uh," Minho says, sticking his tongue out and leaning against the door, bending his back until it's pressed up against the wood. "I'm gonna win again, and again, and again and again a bajillion times."

"Is that right? Maybe I'll have to think of new ways to win, then. How about-" He lunges forward, sticking his hands against Minho's armpits and causing the four-year-old to squeal. He immediately stops leaning against the door in an effort to escape, leaving Chan free to open it. "Come on."

He jams the hat that he'd grabbed off of the side onto Minho's head, stuffing his wallet and keys into his coat pocket. Minho, thankfully, doesn't complain about the hat. Instead, he pulls it over his hair and grabs Chan's hand, swinging off of his arm as they close the door behind them. 

"That's cheating," he says, "That's not allowed, Daddy. I'm gonna dis- dis-qually-fy you."!

"You can't do that," Chan says, "It's my race. Besides, then you wouldn't have any one to race against. You could go as slowly as you liked, and you'd still win. That wouldn't be any fun."

"But I'd be winnin' all the time," Minho fires right back.

He's still hanging off of Chan's arm. Holding his hand and wrapping his skinny arms around Chan's own, dragging his feet unhelpfully behind them. _He's getting heavy,_ Chan thinks, _he's growing up._

And he can't help but feel the emptiness of his other hand.

\------

The next four months seem like a whirlwind of paperwork. Suddenly, Chan is drowning in forms and assessments. It seems like a never-ending pile at first, but he's slowly and steadily working his way through it.

Determination. The space in his heart is already ready for a child, someone who he can at least _try_ to improve the life of. Maybe it's a naive approach, too optimistic for what's bound to be the reality of the situation, but Chan isn't the type of person to give up easily.

He keeps going, and eventually-

There are only a few days until he's formally approved.

It feels him with the same nervous anticipation that holding Minho for the first time had. The same sleepless energy, the worry melting into hope and amazement. The books on generic childcare piling up by the side of his bed have become slightly more specific. He's practically an expert on the foster system at this point, he's ready for anything.

There's only one last thing to do.

Once he's approved, a child could be placed into his care at any point. 

It's more likely that he'll be given some forewarning, of course, but he knows that on rare cases he could barely be given any time to prepare at all. And although Chan can keep that in his mind - that he always needs to be alert, ready to drop everything if the call should come - the four-year-old Minho doesn't understand that quite as well.

He's still excited, thank goodness.

They'd prepared a bedroom a couple of weeks ago, once Chan's application had started to be finalised. It had taken a whole weekend, but Minho had taken it upon himself to be as useful as possible. Whether it was helping Chan to set up the spare bed, folding (or at least, attempting to fold) the pyjamas ready to be used at short-notice, he'd been there the entire time.

He'd decided they were going to be best friends, apparently.

Which led Chan to where they were now, sat facing each other across the table. Chan's made sure to smile the whole time - so that Minho knows he's not in trouble - but the setting is still serious enough to let Minho know that this isn't a joke.

"Minho, I just want to talk some things over with you, okay?"

He's picked up on the tone as well, fidgeting slightly in his seat but not jumping up in an immediate distraction. His eyes match Chan's - they look at each other with identical gazes. "Okay."

"If a new child comes, Min, they might not want to be your friend straight away. They might need some time alone at first. You understand that arriving at a new home for the first time is really scary, right? Even if you want to have fun with them from the moment they arrive, it's best to let them settle in first."

Minho frowns, thinking it over. After only a few moments of silence, he nods. "Okay."

"You're going to have to be patient, baby. I understand it's going to be exciting for you, but you're going to have to be calm at first. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." Minho's frown deepens, "Can you tell me all this again when they're close to coming, though?"

Chan smiles. "Of course. If someone gets placed in our care, I'll talk it all though with you first, before they arrive. You don't have to be worried about any of that, Min. You just have to be yourself, make sure to be patient, and as welcoming as possible."

He worries that he's said something wrong, at first. The frown on Minho's face hasn't let up, instead it stays furrowed between his eyebrows at the four-year-old nods, more solemnly than Chan has ever seen him before. "Don't worry, Daddy. I'm going to be the best big brother ever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can anyone guess (or remember, if i've mentioned it before) who arrives next ;)


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter ended up getting a little too long, so it's going to be another week until highly anticipated chan-seungmin interaction
> 
> but hey, now you can look forward to it even more ;)

  
  


The heat of the summer hits hard.

The sky seems to stretch endlessly blue, the tarmac melts the air around it, and Chan is certain that he hasn't seen a cloud for weeks. The small strip of grass in front of the apartment block has completely dried over. The news proudly proclaims that it's much warmer than it's been for years.

Chan believes it, without even needing to see the numbers.

The duvet usually on his bed has been lying in a pile on the floor for at _least_ a month. Minho's come into his bedroom several times in the night, too hot to sleep. They've taken to sharing opposite ends of the double bed, air-con turned up to max, tossing and turning until the night air becomes somehow tolerable.

A few days ago, Minho and some older kids from a few other apartments on their floor had held a water fight. Chan had watched from the pavement, using a hand-held fan to try and cool himself down. He'd watched to make sure that Minho didn't overwork himself - the sun was hot, and Chan didn't doubt that Minho would attempt to take his sun hat off at some point - but even _watching_ the kids play had seemed exhausting.

It was only towards the beginning of August when the oppressive heat began to finally relent. 

The temperatures were still too hot to be comfortable, but Minho eventually returned to his own room. The ice-tray in the freezer could rest for slightly longer periods each day. It was still warm, but at least they could now go outside without getting immediately sunburnt.

It doesn't mean they particularly want to, however.

For now, Chan is content just sitting on the cool apartment floor, watching as Minho uses brightly coloured crayons to scribble onto a piece of paper. He seems completely concentrated on whatever he's doing. The mess of lines and shapes is too abstract for Chan to know what it is - about two minutes ago, Minho had announced he was going to draw a dolphin - but the drawing on the paper is rather... un-dolphin shaped.

The air is still warm, still sticky and still presses his hair to his forehead, but it's much nicer than what they'd been experiencing only a couple of weeks before. 

In his mind, Chan goes over whether it would be sensible to buy some more ice-lollies. He knows that it can't be good to feed the four-year-old that much sugar, but it's one of the only things that can reliably cool them down. Still, if parenting meant only going for the easiest option, it wouldn't be parenting at all.

He decides against it. If it's still this warm tomorrow, they can visit the swimming pool again. That would be a good day trip out, and would keep Minho amused for a few hours, as well as cooling them down.

Minho looks up at him, using his hands to push himself across the floor. One of his hands almost crumples his drawing, but he notices before disaster can strike, and sits up properly, deciding that acting like a penguin isn't worth it. 

"Daddy, look at what I drew?" 

"Hmm?" Sure enough, he's now shoving the piece of paper into Chan's face. It now - somehow - looks even less than a dolphin than it did a few moments ago, but Chan respectfully doesn't mention that. "Oh, wow."

Minho doesn't seem convinced. "I'm going to explain," he says, shuffling closer to Chan so he can sit in a more comfortable position. There must be some meaning behind the scribbled lines, then, otherwise he wouldn't bother. Chan prepares himself to sit through what it most likely going to be a full half-an-hour presentation.

He never gets that far, unfortunately.

It's only when Minho opens his mouth, pointing to an orange circle in the right-hand corner of the page that Chan's phone starts to ring.

Although Chan isn't expecting a phone call, he doesn't give it a second thought. It's not likely to be his parents - what a strange situation that would be, since they only ever interact when Minho has made the effort to arrange something - but there are plenty of other reasons why his phone would be ringing at such a strange time.

With Minho starting school so soon, he's had multiple calls with the teachers and administrators, getting everything sorted out. The last time they'd spoken, they'd told him to expect a final call in the next couple of days. 

"Min," he says, fishing his phone out of his pocket, "Not right now. Why don't you go and start another drawing? I'll make sure to look at both of them later, okay?"

Minho frowns, putting his piece of paper down dejectedly, but the thought of what else he could draw is evidently distracting enough. He picks up a crayon and starts to colour, leaving Chan free to make his way to the other end of the room.

He puts the phone to his ear, "Hello?"

"Is this Bang Chan?"

The voice isn't one that he recognises. He's spoken to the same receptionist the whole time, whilst speaking to Minho's school, and he's sure he'd be able to recognise the voice of Minho's teacher as well. "Yes, it is. May I ask who's calling?"

There's a pause. "This is Yellow Wood Foster Agency."

Chan's heart stops.

There's a rush of blood to his head. The last time he'd contacted the agency had been about two weeks ago, over email. They'd told him that they'd make sure to inform him of any further development of his situation over email, unless it was something important. His legs feel a little weak. "Oh. Uh- sorry, I wasn't expecting a call from you, that's all. Is everything alright with my paperwork? Is - sorry, I thought I'd been cleared about two months ago."

What if he hadn't?

What if it had been a mistake?

Chan's not sure he'd be able to manage if it turned out that there had been a mistake with his processing. The night that he'd finally been approved - signed off and told that he'd be able to foster - he'd cried with joy. Minho had been a little confused, especially when Chan had held him close, but he'd never been afraid of showing emotion around the kid. 

He'd been so happy that night. Even now, he could still remember the specific rush of elation, the pure relief that had filled his mind. 

"Oh," the person on the other end of the phone says, "As far as I'm aware, your paperwork is completely correct. This is actually regarding a possible placement, Mr Bang."

What?

He'd barely had time to recover from the reassurance before they'd introduced the fact that he could _possibly be fostering a child_ to him. His head is a mixture of emotions, so dense and thick that he can barely identify each one. His heart is still racing. He forces himself to push all that to the back of his mind, using the rush of adrenaline to focus on the phone conversation.

"Really? Wow, that's- that's amazing. I wasn't expecting anything this _suddenly_ , though?"

The person on the other end of the phone hums. "There are specific circumstances that have led to the need to place the child in a suitable long-term home as quickly as possible. I'm aware that this may be sudden - so we can find another family if you'd prefer to prepare for longer."

Specific circumstances? Chan can't focus on it for too long. They can't tell him any specifics over the phone for confidentiality reasons, he'll only be able to be briefed properly in person. The phrasing makes him think that there's more to this placement than what might be deemed 'normal', even for a foster care situation.

But he doesn't care. As long as Chan can look after the kid as well as he possibly can, that's all that matters. He doesn't care about the possible sub-text in the employee's words. He just keeps listening.

"I assure you, Mr Bang, that if you don't feel comfortable accepting this placement, the child will find another home that's just as caring."

"No," Chan says, his mind made up already, "I'm fine. I've already got stuff prepared, I'm able to take on the placement as soon as possible." 

"That's great," the employee says. There's the sound of typing through the phone. "We usually introduce the child to the foster family several times before the placement begins, but since the circumstances are so strange in this situation, I'm afraid that this has had to be reduced. We'd like to you come in and meet the child within the next hour or two, if that's possible."

"The next _hour_?"

Okay, the specific circumstances were becoming more and more apparent. And yet Chan only becomes more and more determined. He hadn't been planning anything else today - not even for the next couple of days either, so taking in a foster child with such short notice wouldn't be too much of an unrealistic option. The only problem was Minho.

He assumes that he can't take the four-year-old with him. He certainly wouldn't have brought him along for the first meeting if it had been a normal situation. Perhaps not even for the second. Chan knows that the first one was usually to build a bond between the foster parent and the child. It wasn't until later that any other children needed to be involved, since the parent and the child were considered the most important.

Even if he was expected to bring Minho with him, Chan's not sure that he'd want to. Especially not with such short notice.

That leaves the question of what he's actually going to do with Minho.

There's got to be an option. His mind runs through the list of all the places where Minho would be welcome to stay for a couple of hours, and eventually manages to come up with one. The librarians at the library where Chan borrows all of their books love Minho. He's pretty certain that they're running a reading session later today as well, surely they wouldn't mind taking care of the four-year-old for a while?

The parents are usually free to leave during the reading sessions. He thinks the timings through; it wouldn't be too much to ask for, really, they'd only be looking after him for about twenty minutes before the session actually started. He's friends with most of the workers as well, and Minho is comfortable to be left there alone.

It's perfect. 

"If that's possible, sir-"

"No," Chan cuts them off, only feeling slightly bad about it, "That's fine. It's just sudden, that's all."

"We appreciate your efforts," the worker says, "No more information can be given over the phone, unfortunately, due to the sensitive nature of the case. Once you arrive at Yellow Wood, simply give your name to the reception and they'll tell you what to do next."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Thank you, sir."

Chan hangs up, wanting to stop the awkward end-of-phone call time wasting before it can even begin. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his hands are shakier than they've been for months. He's nervous, he realises. And if he wants to get to Yellow Wood on time, he needs to move quickly.

"Min?" He calls, rounding the corner and making his way over to the four-year-old. He's still sitting there, colouring. The drawing that Chan hadn't even been able to look over earlier has been discarded to the side, as Minho focuses all his concentration onto the crayons in front of him.

"Minho, baby, that was Yellow Wood. They might be placing someone with us very soon, okay?"

Minho looks up, putting the crayon he'd been holding down. He can recognise the urgency in Chan's tone of voice, and probably knows that something's coming. 

"I've got to go in to meet the child, Min, but that means you can't come with me. I'm going to drop you over at the library for a while, okay?"

He gets to his feet, and Minho is quick to follow. Together, they start making their way over to the doorway, although Minho hangs back slightly. They'd discussed this previously - being called upon so suddenly was unexpected, but never completely out of the picture - but it's understandable that Minho is still a little overwhelmed. 

"Daddy," he says, "Are you going to be gone for long?"

He sounds so young, all of a sudden. Chan freezes in the middle of grabbing his keys, and after a moment of hesitation, heads back into the living room. He picks up Minho's drawing and hands it to the child, before taking his hand and pulling him out of their apartment.

"I'm going to tell you the truth, Minho, so listen to me. I don't know how long I'm going to be. It might only take an hour, but it might take longer than that." 

Before they reach the end of the corridor, he crouches down, looking Minho in his eyes. "Baby, look at me. I know this is all happening quickly, so you've got to listen. I'm coming back. I won't be gone forever. You'll know exactly where I am, and if you get scared or lonely, I want you to ask one of the librarians to call me, okay?"

Minho nods. "Okay."

"Good boy. I know it might be scary, but I want you to behave for them, is that okay as well?"

Again, Minho nods.

Chan's heart fills with pride. They've got a bit of a walk ahead of them, they've still got time to go over some of the less important things. By the time they arrive, he wants Minho to be completely at ease, and to know that everything's going to be alright. It's obvious to him that this is just an unfortunate situation, but to the four-year-old it may seem very different altogether.

But...

Already, he's so proud.

They've got a lot to talk about, but Chan's only got one thing to start the conversation off. He holds out Minho's drawing as they walk. "Minho, how about you show your picture to me now?"

\---

It didn't take long to drop Minho off at the library.

Just as Chan had suspected, they were happy to look after him for a couple of hours. In fact, they'd practically forced him out of the door when he told them the reasoning behind why Minho had to be dropped off in the first place. After getting several wishes of good luck, he'd made his way back to the block of flats. 

Then he'd only had to climb into his car and drive to Yellow Wood.

Again, the journey had seemed far too short. Chan's hands had been shaking for most of the trip. Since the phone call, his heart had stopped racing quite as quickly, but the nerves hadn't let up at all. His stomach wasn't quite twisting itself into knots anymore, but he couldn't quite shake the worry from his head.

The trip to Yellow Wood was mostly spent with Chan desperately trying to sort through every possible outcome in his kind, while simultaneously calming himself down. 

It works, sort of. By the time he finally arrives - only a couple of minutes over an hour - he feels as if he can take on the world. If the fostering doesn't work out, he'll be disappointed, sure. But he knows that the most important thing is that the _child_ is safe. If it's decided that Chan isn't the right placement after all, then it's all he can do but wish them the best.

That it still the worst-case scenario, though. And as he walks through the reception doors, he knows that he's going to do everything in his power to help it work out. 

Just one deep breath after another. _Breathe._

This isn't the first time he'd visited Yellow Wood, and the reception hasn't changed in the month or two that he's been away. It's still large and airy, filled with glass windows that face out into the car park, and the same couple of houseplants spotted around the room. There's a large desk to the left of the room, and a couple of rows of chairs to the right.

Before, Chan had been instructed to sit there. As he enters now, there are a couple of people waiting in the same place that he had before - the same nerves that he'd felt written all over their faces. A few look up as he enters, and Chan shoots them a reassuring smile.

If he had longer, he might stay and chat. He's been in that position before; he knows exactly how terrifying it can be. If he were maybe a little more confident, he wouldn't need to come up with excuses to stop himself.

But he's running out of time. He turns away and heads straight to the reception, smiling again as he approaches the worker at the desk. "Hi, I received a phone call about an hour ago telling me to come here?"

He cringes inwardly at the way his statement curls into a question, but he's honestly not sure how else he could have phrased it. The worker doesn't seem to notice. They nod, tap a few letters on their keyboard, and the look back up to Chan.

"Sure, can I just get a name?"

"Uh- It's Bang Chan."

Another nod. They type some more into the computer, and then there's a moment of silence as the network takes a few seconds to load. Chan's heart is beating faster the longer that it takes, and he forces himself to focus on his breathing. It won't do anyone any good if he turns up nervous. No, he has to be confident, he has to show the real him.

"Bang Chan?" The receptionist finally looks up, confirming his name. "I've got you down here for a potential placement, is that correct?"

Chan smiles again, hoping that his nerves don't get the best of him. "Well, hopefully."

Luckily, the receptionist smiles back. "Don't worry," they say, typing a few more letters and then pressing a button to their left. It causes a buzzing sound, and then the receptionist glances to the large double doors at the back of the room. "I've sent for someone to collect you. They'll explain the outline of the situation to you, give you a short talk on what to expect, and then you'll be taken to the room where you'll be introduced to the child."

Chan nods. "Okay. Thank you."

"It shouldn't take long," the receptionist says. Already, they can both see the figure of a man approaching through the windows on either side of the doors. They're making their way up the corridor, and by the way that the receptionist visibly relaxes, Chan can assume that's who'll be taking him to meet his potential foster child.

It still sounds so unreal. Chan can still hardly believe that so much has happened in the past hour.

"Thank you," he says again, not sure what else he can say.

The receptionist turns back to face him. "Hey," they say, much softer than they'd spoken before, "You'll do just fine. Trust me."

As they're speaking, the door buzzes and then swings open. The man who'd he'd seen through the glass nods to the receptionist, and starts to head towards Chan. He'd got a file in his hand already, and a kind smile on his face.

Chan turns to the receptionist one last time. "Thank you," he says again, this time much more sincerely. There's a rush of adrenaline that hadn’t been there before, and it's given him the confidence he'd needed to take those first step forwards. His heart has calmed down, his stomach has untwisted itself, and his mind is completely focused.

He follows the man through the double doors, and he knows that this is going to work out.


	7. chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is in no way shape or form an accurate depiction of the foster system, or of a two-year-old autistic child. if there are any massive errors, PLEASE TELL ME so I can correct them, but just don't expect this to be completely realistic lmao

  
They stay silent during the walk. Chan doesn't know if he's supposed to speak or not - but he's far too awkward to start a conversation. Everything that he can think to say revolves around the child that he's supposed to be meeting, and it just feels wrong to bring the subject up first.

The receptionist had told him he'd be talked through it all. It would be rude to seem too eager, wouldn't it? Maybe the man walking beside him is only supposed to escort him to another room, he might not even know anything about the situation. Then Chan would only feel even more awkward.

It seems like staying quiet is the most sensible course of action, so that's what he does.

The walk isn't too long. This side of the building isn't too large, although the corridors are so similar to each other that Chan is still sure he'd manage to get lost within them. There are large windows pressed into the walls every so often, looking out into a grassy area enclosed on three sides by the buildings. 

Through the glass, he can see a few children running around. There are adults stood to the side, encouraging them to play in a way that Chan recognises. He assumes that the prospective foster families are allowed to interact with the children outside - not a bad idea, for such a hot day. 

Already, he doubts that he'll be joining them. Something about the tension inside the corridor, the urgency of the phone call that he'd received; it all adds up. He's still glancing out of the windows in an almost envious - no, not envious, just curious - way when the man walking beside him stops.

"Just through this door."

He holds it open for Chan, who smiles as he steps through. The room that he enters isn't particularly large, so he has to shuffle forwards a bit to leave enough room for the man to follow. 

Most of it is taken up by a large desk. It's placed right in the middle of the room, and once Chan looks closer, it's really one of the only pieces of furniture. There are two chairs in front of it - one of which Chan takes, after he's given the go ahead from the man behind him - and then a proper desk chair on the other side.

One of the walls has a few bookshelves on, although the shelves seem to be taken up with files more than any actual books. There are a few framed photos as well, but Chan feels like it would be an invasion of privacy to look too closely. There aren't any windows in the office, unlike the rest of the building. The only other notable feature in the room is another door set into the back wall.

The man who'd walked him to the office makes his way around the desk, sitting himself down into the chair. He wheels it over to a more comfortable position, and then pulls out yet another file from a shelf beneath the desk. 

"Sorry for the silence as we walked," he says, flicking through the pages until he finds the one he's looking for, "As you can probably understand, a lot of the information regarding this case is sensitive. For the same reason we can't have any windows in the offices - everything I'm going to tell you is restricted and confidential."

Chan nods. He'd known that it was important to be careful with information about foster kids before, but he hadn't realised it was going to be this extreme. 

"As a manner of protection," the man continues, pulling the sheet of paper out of the file and sliding it across the desk towards Chan, "You're going to need to sign this. It's nothing too serious - you've basically signed all these papers before, when you applied to be a foster parent - but another one has to be signed for each individual child." He finishes up by taking a pen from the mug on the desk, rolling it over to join the form facing Chan.

"That's fine with me," Chan says. He scans the paper, which only confirms what the man had told him, and signs it without a second thought.

"Thanks," the man takes it back, smiling, "I know it's repetitive, but it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to legal matters."

He puts the pen back into the mug, before straightening up. His smile widens a little more, and his demeanour is obviously a little more relaxed now that most of the legal documentation is out of the way. "Well, first of all, congratulations! We rarely have placements that don't work out once the foster family has been selected, so you can probably relax a little."

Chan doesn't know how true that is, but the statement does its job well. He leans back in his chair a little. His heart rate had been beginning to pick up without him even realising, and yet the man had somehow known exactly what to say to calm his nerves. He obviously knew what he was doing. "Thank you."

The man nods, still smiling. "Well, I know that we asked you to come here on pretty short notice. It's not an ideal situation, I know, but there weren't many other suitable foster families, and none of them were free to accept the placement as soon as we'd have liked."

There it is again, that same phrase. _Not an ideal situation._ He's almost heard it as many times as _specific circumstances_. 

He's determined not to let anything phase him, but it doesn't stop the worry gnawing at the back of his mind.

He's got Minho, but what if he can't look after this child to the extent that they deserve? What if he goes about it all wrong, and he ends up making a huge mistake? It was hard enough learning what worked with Minho - and there was a lot less pressure in that situation.

It must show in his expression, since the smile slides of the man's face as well. There's a newfound seriousness in the room. Finally, it's time to get down to business.

"You're probably wondering why it was so important that we found a placement as soon as possible," the man says. He slides across the file that he'd been holding - only open to the first page, which Chan assumes is the only one he's permitted to read. 

The photograph in the corner of the page is of a toddler. It looks like it must have been taken around Christmas time, with sparkling fairy lights in the very corner of the frame. The boy is perched on the knee of an adult, who's holding him up to face the camera, but he doesn't seem interested in it at all. In fact, his expression says that he's more uncomfortable than anything else. 

"The child's name is Kim Seungmin. He’s currently two years old, and has been placed into foster care due to familial death."

"Oh," Chan says. God, this kid is only two, and he's already lost his parents? 

"His Grandmother," the man cuts in, "I can't reveal too much about the circumstances, since the legalities are still being processed, but it appears that his parents didn't want to assume care of him. He was living with his Grandmother until a couple of days ago, when she had a fall."

_ Oh. _ Chan's mind races. He doesn’t want to think about it - he's not sure if the reality of the situation is worse or not. His stomach has twisted a little. And - if he was being placed into foster care, didn't that mean that he didn't have any one else? Who- who had-

"Did he find her?" Chan says, and his voice is a little weaker than he'd have hoped. "His Grandmother, I mean."

"He was the one to phone the ambulance."

Oh _God._ The child - Seungmin - he was two and he'd phoned the ambulance? All by himself? Surely that couldn't be possible, but the man seems to catch his confusion, and nods to confirm his earlier statement. Minho was fairly early to start talking, and Chan's certain that he wouldn't have been able to communicate enough to an ambulance. He's not sure he'd even be able to work the phone that well, let alone know what to do if Chan was unresponsive.

Knowing Minho, he'd probably start to watch television. It's not a situation Chan has ever thought to prepare for before, but he makes a mental note think about it more later. 

"We suspect he has a form of autism," the man says, looking Chan directly in the eyes. "It's unconfirmed right now, but both his actions and responses fit the criteria of a diagnosis. That's why we'd like to have him placed in a long-term home as quickly as possible - any routine that can be fixed and prepared from is incredibly important." 

And Chan-

Chan's mind hits a dead end.

He doesn't know a lot about autism. Aside from what's shown in the films - which he hardly thinks is accurate, knowing the track record of most things in movies - he's not sure he knows much at all. Certainly, a few thoughts seem to take up most of his mind.

The first is ' _that makes sense'._

He'd known that this wasn't going to be a normal situation, right from the moment he'd received the phone call. All of the secrecy, the 'specific circumstances', they were really just hiding this. And it does make sense.

The second is _'I'm not sure I can do this'_.

It flashes into his mind bright and powerful, and is gone as soon as Chan can process it. He sends the thought away, stomach curling at what his inner-reasoning might have been. There was already enough pressure to give a foster kid the life they deserved, pressure that Chan wasn't sure he could deal with. This was something else, that he hadn't even _considered._

The third is slightly different. By the time he's managed to get further than the initial shock, his mind has recovered enough to think a little more coherently. 

They wouldn't have phoned him if they hadn't thought that he could handle it. Even if they didn't want to cause too much disruption to Seungmin, they wouldn't put him at risk in doing so. They'd value finding him a home that could actually meet his needs before anything else - and they'd decided on Chan.

He doesn't know much, but he can learn.

The library has got to have books about kids with autism, right? If not, he can always just refer to the internet. There are bound to be places with information that's much more accurate. And Chan's heart is so full of love, he's sure of it. He can do his goddamn best to make sure that Seungmin is okay, and he won't accept anything less.

"Okay. That's- okay."

The man nods, slowly, gauging Chan's reaction. "I understand that this might not have been what you were expecting, Mr Bang."

Well, he can't lie. "No, it's not. But I'm sure I can provide a suitable home for Seungmin, no matter the additional needs that he might have."

"Good." The man nods again, this time clearly satisfied with Chan's response. "Now, we have some additional information on how to keep him as comfortable as possible, but he hasn't been in our care for long enough to provide a fully adequate list. Unfortunately, you'll have to learn most of his likes and dislikes by yourself."

"That's fine."

"He doesn't seem to be fond of any eye-contact, but he'll likely still be listening even if he doesn't appear so. It seems that he has some sort of sensory aversion as well."

"Sensory aversion?" Chan asks, frowning a little, "What does that mean, exactly?" He can make a guess, of course, based on the words themselves. But he also knows that they could still mean any manner of things, and it's not doing any harm to ask for clarification. 

"Some textures are incredibly uncomfortable for him," the man says, "We're not sure which ones exactly, at the moment, but he seems much more comfortable with soft fabrics, rather than anything 'scratchy'. Of course, there's probably a much more in-depth explanation I could give you, but that would take much longer."

Okay. Chan can deal with that. He's not sure if the car-seat in the back of his car would count as too scratchy, but he's got a spare blanket in the boot that he could use if needed. And one they got back to the apartment, there were a lot more supplies that he could use to make it more acceptable. Even then, off the top of his head, he's not sure if he can think of anything that couldn't be easily avoided.

"That's the main issue we've highlighted," the man continues. "Other than that, the most difference you should notice is in his actions. He's a lot more independent than a typical two-year-old, so don't be too surprised if he prefers to play on his own."

Chan nods again, not sure how else he's supposed to respond. "Okay."

"Great." The man closes the folder he'd been holding. "I think that's all the immediate information you need to be provided with. We can give you a copy of his file before you leave, and then that should contain everything I didn't answer in this session. And, of course, if you have any additional questions, feel free to call us at any time."

That's... it?

It's over already? Chan barely feels like he's been here for five minutes, even though he rationally knows it must have been much longer than that. Maybe it's because his mind is still reeling from the information he's just been told. Or maybe it's because no matter how much he tries to convince himself, he still feels woefully unprepared. 

The small office room feels timeless. There aren't any clocks, the lack of windows means that Chan can't see the light outside, and the endless piles of folders feel claustrophobic. His heart is hammering in his chest.

"Now," The man stands up, nodding at Chan to do the same. "I know you must be eager to meet him, so let’s get going."

He shuffles a couple of steps to the side, pushing open the door at the back of the room. From his position, Chan can already see past the walls of the office. The door leads to another room - this one much larger and more welcoming. There are windows in this one, a soft flooring, and the walls are painted a bright, happy combination of white and yellow. 

Again, this room has an additional door set into the opposite wall. This one isn't as much of a mystery as the last, however. Through the windows, Chan can see that it links up to a long corridor, set along the way with what he assumes is similar rooms to the one that he's looking into. 

The room seems to be a play room. There are toys on the floor, painted wooden boxes filled with books towards the walls. It seems to be relatively neat - the toys aren't scattered, like Minho leaves his, but instead piled to the sides. It looks like there possibly isn't enough storage space, or maybe they were expected to be strewn all over the place.

A woman in the corner looks up as they enter. She smiles, holding the clipboard she'd been reading close to her chest. "Bang Chan?"

"That's me."

"Great." Her eyes flick to the side before she can say anything else, and Chan follows them. To the side of the room, a small child is sitting on the floor. He's got a book in front of him - one that looks far too complicated for how small he is - and hasn't even looked up at the sound of new people entering the room.

It has to be Seungmin.

When he looks back to the lady, she simply nods. "I'll leave you two to meet while I talk to Mr. Kim." In what only seems like a matter of seconds, they leave through the door, leaving it open whilst they have a discussion in the office. Slowly, Chan turns to face the two-year-old in the corner.

If Chan didn't know more, he would have thought that he hadn't realised anything was going on. Seungmin hasn't looked up once. He seems to be too invested in his book to care about the people leaving and entering the room. Even when Chan takes a step closer, it's as if he doesn't exist.

"Seungmin?"

Again, no reaction.

But he's close enough that he must have heard him, and Chan shouldn't be put off by Seungmin's silence. From what the man had told him, this is to be expected. And if Seungmin can hear him, if Seungmin can understand him, then Chan sees no reason why he shouldn't just carry on speaking like normal.

"Seungmin, I'm Bang Chan. You're going to be living with me for a little while. I've got a bed for you at my apartment, and you can decorate the room however you'd like. I also have a son - Minho - but you don't have to be worried about him. He's very nice, and he's looking forward to meeting you."

It's hard, talking to someone that doesn't respond. It reminds Chan of when Minho was a baby, but even then, he'd get acknowledgement in the forms of gurgles and facial expressions. He doesn't really know what he should be saying, either. There's no guidance, nothing to show him what to do, and so Chan just takes another step forward.

That certainly gets Seungmin to react. They're close now, and maybe he doesn't like the fact that Chan's shoes are in his field of vision, because he looks up for the first time. His eyes rake up and down Chan's body - judgemental almost, in a way that most two-year-olds wouldn't be. There's no politeness in the way he inspects Chan's face, it's simply like he's looking right into his soul.

Chan's still not sure what to do, so he stands there and takes it.

Forming any kind of bond with Seungmin seems like it will take a while. Starting off on the wrong foot could put him behind by months - maybe even destroy any sort of potential relationship they could ever have. 

He has to be careful. And yet, at the same time, he has to _try_.

"What are you reading?"

Seungmin looks down, as if he's just been reminded about the book in front of him. Now that Chan's closer, he can see just how small the text actually is. No matter how advanced Seungmin is, there's no way that he's actually reading the book. He might be able to recognise a couple of letters, but Chan doubts that he's actually reading. Instead, he's most likely just looking at the pictures intensely.

It's a book about dinosaurs. 

"Hey, Seungmin," Chan says, "Do you like dinosaurs? What's your favourite, hmm?"

It's a long shot. Chan doesn't think it's going to work - he wouldn't be surprised if Seungmin just carried on acting like he wasn't there, too absorbed in looking at the drawings to grace Chan with a response.

Except - 

It does work. Seungmin looks up again, this time without the frown on his face. Sure enough, the mention of dinosaurs has completely changed his attitude towards Chan. "T-Rex!"

"Oh?" Chan says, "The T-Rex? That's a good choice, they're _super_ cool. What do you like about them?" He stops, taking one last step forwards and pointing towards a spot on the ground next to Seungmin. It's just far enough away that they wouldn't be touching, and yet close enough that he could point out the names in the book. "Can I sit here?"

"They are big," Seungmin says. He doesn't answer Chan's second question, but when Chan gets closer again, he doesn't protest. "And 'rauguaghah'." His words are a little difficult to understand - but that's typical two-year-old speech. Chan can make out most of what he's saying, and the rest can easily be diverted by nodding his head like he understands. 

"Wow, those are some cool facts. How about any other dinosaurs, what about those?" He points to one of the dinosaurs on the page, watching as Seungmin eagerly follows his finger. 

"Uhh, 's one steggy."

Chan peers closer. Sure enough, the picture is of a stegosaurus. He can't help but be impressed. Seungmin really knows his stuff. "Wow, you're right! It's a stegosaurus, look at those spikes on its back."

Seungmin frowns. For a second, Chan's heart drops. He thinks that he's done something wrong - it had been going to well, what could he have possibly done - but that's not the case.

"Steggysaurus," Seungmin says, repeating after Chan. He looks up at the man sat next to him, and then points to the next dinosaur on the page, "This?"

"That's - uh-" Chan leans forwards again, heart still racing at an alarming pace, "That's a diplodocus. They had really long necks, so they could eat the tallest leaves at the tops of the trees."

Seungmin nods, and then points to the next picture expectantly. He looks up at Chan, waiting for the answer, and-

Chan's heart skips a beat.

The worry that had been keeping his body coiled tight seeps away. The insecurity and doubt that had been plaguing the back of his mind ever since he received the phone call starts to fade. They're replaced with that same swell of love. The urge to protect Seungmin. To give him the best time with Chan that's possible.

The fears that he'd been trying to swallow back suddenly aren't there. There's no reason to be scared, not really.

"This one? That's an allosaurus."


	8. chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, another chapter where literally nothing happens
> 
> good thing you're here for the fluff, because the lack of plot in every single one of these chapters is rather startling

  
The rest of the meeting passes so quickly that before Chan realises it, he's driving back to the library to pick Minho up. 

Seungmin is sat in the back of the car, staring out of the window. The car-seat hasn't been too scratchy, thank goodness, as Chan hadn’t been sure how safe wrapping the two-year-old in a blanket would be. 

He'd also decided not to play any music, just in case. It's likely that's he's being too overcautious, but the nerves haven't fully disappeared, and he'd rather avoid any potential disasters. As long as he gets to the library and back to the apartment in one piece, that counts as a win. He can stand the awkward silence for a few minutes if it means keeping Seungmin calm. 

He's- he's just worried.

It's natural. For any child, he knows it would take a little while to get to know them. What annoys them, how far they can be pushed out of their comfort zone, the signs of a storm coming, and how to navigate around the inevitable temper tantrums. Even with Minho - who Chan has looked after since he was a tiny baby - it's normal for kids Seungmin's age to get upset for no reason at all. 

That doesn't account for the fact that he's a foster kid. His entire life has changed over the last week or so - he's bound to be stressed and easier to anger. Even if he's so young that the trauma might have bounced off, the sheer number of changes mean that Chan is _expecting_ him to get overwhelmed. 

It's going to happen at some point, no matter what he does.

Chan would just rather it... didn't happen now. Not when he still needed to pick up Minho, not when his own brain was so scrambled. As long as they made it back to the apartment without disaster, that was it. That's all he's hoping for. 

And luckily for him, the calm lasts the whole way to the library.

"Come on," Chan opens the door nearest to Seungmin. The two-year-old stares back up at him, craning his head to see where they've ended up. "It's time to go into the library. I can't leave you in the car on your own. Can you undo your seatbelt by yourself?"

He's not quite sure what he wants to answer to be. If he can, then that's one less issue Chan has to worry about right now. Of course, it also means that Seungmin might start undoing his seatbelt when they're going 70 on the motorway, which is a whole other problem that he doesn't particularly want to think about.

Seungmin looks down. His chubby hands grip the clasp, but his fingers are in the completely wrong places to actually press the buttons to open it. He looks mildly annoyed at the discovery. "Don't work."

"It doesn't work?" Chan asks. Ah - Seungmin's old car seat (if he'd had one) must've worked slightly differently. "Oh, no, it should still work. You're going to have to let me do it for you, is that okay?"

It feels weird, asking questions like this to such a young child. At that age, Minho wouldn't have answered properly. He would have found everything too funny - too amusing to ever give an answer that would actually be helpful. 

Seungmin certainly can't be that independent. He's bright, definitely, but Chan doubts that he's really as grown-up as he appears from his mannerisms. It's a strange combination of actions and thoughts, and it'll take Chan a while to work out exactly where the line lies. The large number of questions he's being asked - he likely doesn't understand all of the meaning behind them. 

"We can get some dinosaur books when we're inside," Chan suggests, when Seungmin keeps tugging on the belt himself. "You can choose them yourself and everything! All the dinosaur books you can read!"

It's a desperate attempt at bribery, but it's still relieving when he nods. 

"I'm going to unstrap you and lift you out, then." 

Before Seungmin can protest or even begin to process Chan's words, he's being unstrapped. Chan purposefully makes sure to lift Seungmin without touching his skin, holding him up and putting him gently onto the ground as soon as possible. It's actually a smooth process, and the car is locked behind them only a few moments later.

"Dino books now?" Seungmin asks.

"Yep, that's where we're going."

The car park is near to the library building, and it's only about a minutes’ walk until they're standing right outside.

The doors slide open, revealing the inside of the building. It's quite large - although rather empty, probably since it's the middle of the week and much too warm for most people to want to spend too long inside. The air conditioning here has never been too great, and Chan just hopes that Minho hasn't overheated too much in the time that he's been here. 

Hopefully he would be brave enough to ask for a glass of water if he got thirsty. Chan hadn't even considered that when he'd dropped the four-year-old off. 

The guilt still weighs heavy in his heart as he walks through the plastic sensors, Seungmin only a couple of steps behind him. 

A few librarians look up as he enters. The desk is near enough to the entrance that they can see him immediately, and the sound of the doors sliding open must have alerted him to their presence. One of them is talking to an older lady, so only shoots him a smile, but the other leaves his position to make his way over to Chan.

"How's he been?" Chan asks, before they can say anything first, "I didn't realise I'd be gone quite so long. I'm so sorry if he's been any trouble."

But the librarian simply shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I think he's gotten a little tired in the past fifteen minutes, but earlier he was even helping to hand out the drinks and biscuits."

He points in the direction of the kid’s section. It's obscured by shelves of biographies - meaning that although the atmosphere is calm and secluded, the actual section itself is completely hidden from the main entrance. Chan nods his thanks, and then starts to make his way over.

Hopefully Minho isn't too tired. _Hopefully_. Seungmin is also likely to be overwhelmed, considering the amount of changes his life has gone through in the past two hours alone. Chan knows Minho is completely within his right to be exhausted, but he's not sure he can handle too grouchy and sensitive children at the same time, not when he's feeling the exact same way himself. 

The children's corner is just as empty as the rest of the library.

Standing to one side is a tried looking couple, with a boy a few years older than Minho pulling out books from the shelf. The Dad has a very young baby strapped to his chest, and Chan has to resist the urge to coo when he catches sight of it. 

There's a girl possibly nine or ten on the other side, where books aimed towards slightly older children are. She has a pile of a few in her arms already, and doesn't even look up from the blurb she's reading as Chan approaches - too absorbed in the text to notice anything else.

And then, finally, there's Minho. He's sat in one of the overly-large beanbags, almost swallowed up by the soft fabric. His feet kick against the material, and he's holding a picture book limply in his hands. There are a few discarded drawings to his side. Just as the librarian had implied, he looks pretty tired. There's no enthusiasm in the way his eyes search the pages, and his posture is appalling.

It all changes when he looks up, though. As soon as he catches sight of Chan, he drops the picture book and his face splits into a grin. He tumbles off of the beanbag and onto the bright-coloured carpet, tripping over his own feet in his excitement to reach them.

"Daddy!"

Chan kneels down, pulling Minho into the hug he'd been holding his arms out for. "Hey, baby. How've you been? Didn't get too lonely, I hope?"

"Nope! I didn't get lonely at all, I'm a big boy!"

"Really?" Chan raises his eyebrows, "Even big boys can get lonely sometimes, Min. I was lonely when I had to leave you here."

Minho frowns at that, as if he'd never thought of it that way before. "Oh. I guess maybe I was a teeny-weeny bit lonely then. But only a little, little bit." He holds his fingers up to demonstrate his point, holding his finger and thumb about a centimetre away from each other, "Like... this much."

"That's good to hear." He pulls away from the hug, looking Minho right in the eyes. He'd love to chat for longer, play into Minho's antics in way of making up for the fact he had to left behind, but there's simply not time. "Now, Min, I want you to meet Seungmin."

Minho's eyes widen. He must have seen Seungmin when he first ran at Chan, but the way he peers around seems like he's just noticing the two-year-old. His mouth has dropped open, and he shuffles towards Chan, shy all of a sudden. "He- hello Seungmin."

"Seungmin," Chan says, "This is my son, Minho. He'd like to be a big brother to you, okay?"

Seungmin looks up. He frowns at Minho, sussing him out, and then nods once. " 'ello."

They both seem a little shy, a little unsure of what to do. Eager to break the tension, Chan straightens up, laughing. "Well, I know you two should be introduced properly, but I don't think this is quite the right time. How about we get back home first, hmm?"

They don't _actually_ get a choice. Chan wants to talk Minho through everything privately, once they're home. Right now isn't the best time or place, and he doesn't want Seungmin to feel left out. He'll likely need to nap once they get back - it's been quite an eventful day for such a young child - and that would be the perfect time to have a conversation with Minho.

He gets two shy nods of confirmation as a reply. That's enough of a response for Chan; he quickly leads them into the next stage of the conversation. "Have you got all the books you'd like to take out?"

Minho huffs. "I've read for _ages_ today, Daddy. I'm never going to read again, or my eyes are all gonna fall out."

Chan hums. "I'm not sure that's true, but that's fine. I'm going to get some books for Seungmin as well, though, so feel free to look for some now if you change your mind."

Seungmin is already wandering towards the bookshelves. Chan's not sure he's ever been to this library before, so he can't know where the dinosaur books actually area. He's not sure if Seungmin would listen to him if Chan asked him to come back, so he has to slip away from Minho, who's now torn between getting some books after all.

"Seungmin?" He calls, "The dino books are on this side. Here, come look with me."

Sure enough, Seungmin comes toddling across the carpeted floor, right over to Chan and the brightly coloured dinosaur books. There aren't too many here - it's only a small wooden box, easily accessible for the younger kids - but even that should keep them going for now. Chan reaches in and pulls one out, showing off the glossy pages.

"Wow, look at this! Look at the dinosaur on the front page, Seungmin! Do you know what one this is?"

"T-rex!" Seungmin says, grabbing onto the book and trying to tug it out of Chan's hands. 

Chan freezes. He wouldn't allow this from Minho - especially not if he hadn't wanted him to get distracted. If he gives in and lets Seungmin start reading now, he's not going to want to leave for a while. And that's not fair on Minho, who's probably sick to the back teeth of the library.

He's going to have to take a risk.

"Uh-" he gently pulls back, successfully taking the book back from Seungmin's grip, "Not right now. We've got to get home first, and then you can look at the dino books."

Seungmin doesn't like that response. His face screws up slightly, like he's just tasted lemon for the first time. His hands curl into little fists, his bottom lip sticking out. 

Inwardly, Chan's pretty sure this is one of the most stressful situations he's ever been in. His heart is hammering in his chest. But he can't give in and let Seungmin win, that's not the type of person he is. "Seungmin, listen to me. I promise that you can look at them in the car on the way back. Just not right now, okay?"

Seungmin still doesn't look pleased. But before he can say anything - or before he can start to cry, as is more likely for a two-year-old - Minho bounds up, pulling on Chan's sleeve to get his attention. 

"Look!" He says, "I've got a book that I wanna read now! Are we goin' home now?"

"In a few moments," Chan says, straightening up and hoping to any god above that this works as a distraction for Seungmin. "I'm going to get a few books for myself first. Would you two boys care to follow me?"

His heart hasn't stopped hammering in his chest. But even now, as he takes the first step away from the wooden box of books, Seungmin's expression begins to smoothen out.

"Let'sa go!" Minho cries. He holds his book out in front of him and does a strange sort-of dance, all twisting feet and spinning around. He's humming a tune as well, laughing as he follows in Chan's footsteps. He's obviously gained energy from seeing Chan again - the hyper excitement from actually seeing Seungmin for the first time beginning to kick in. "Go!"

When Chan glances behind himself, he sees that Seungmin is watching Minho with wide eyes. The movement of his arms and legs is proving to be a better distraction that Chan could have hoped for - and Seungmin ends up following the entire way to the bookshelf without further protest. 

They won't be here for long, thankfully.

Chan already knows what he's looking for. There are only a few books on autism - even fewer on autism in young children - so there's only a couple that he needs to choose between. It only takes a few moments for him to add them to the pile in his hands, taking Minho's chosen book as well and making his way over to the check-out. 

Usually, he'd take them up the one of the librarians, but there's no time for chatting today. Although slightly ruder to use, the automated scanner is much more efficient, and Chan's sure neither of the kids would appreciate being delayed by a ten-minute chat. 

He only shoots an apologetic smile as he scans them through, and then they're leaving the library, climbing back into the car and making their way back to the apartment.

"How about you tell me what you did in the library?" Chan suggests as he starts the engine, knowing that Minho can easily talk through the entire journey, with little input from anyone else. 

Sure enough, his recounting of being trusted enough to give out the biscuits _(all by myself, Daddy, I didn't even need any help!)_ takes them from the library all the way to the car park of their apartment block. 

Minho keeps talking as Chan helps Seungmin out of his car seat. The toddler looks exhausted - he'd been given his dinosaur book, like Chan had promised - but hasn't opened a single page. Chan has to persuade him that the apartment is only a little way away before he even takes the first step.

Surprisingly, they even manage to make it the entire way back to the apartment without a disaster. 

Minho runs off as soon as the door opens, busy putting the pictures he'd drawn at the library in the pile from earlier this morning. It leaves Chan free to practically drag Seungmin through the door. On the walk, he's become so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open. 

He's barely awake as Chan shows his room, and doesn't protest when Chan changes him into the pyjamas from his suitcase - careful not to let his hands brush against his skin at any point. He's still not sure if he's being too cautious, but that's a problem for another day. 

He's just helping the two-year-old into bed when Minho appears in the doorway.

"Wait!"

Minho's voice is a little loud again, and Chan has to bite his lip when Seungmin flinches. He'd known this was going to take a little while to get used to, but he hadn't realised exactly how careful he'd have to be. Of course, Minho was never usually this excited, and Seungmin probably wasn't always this sensitive, but that wasn't particularly helpful for this exact moment in time.

Chan smiles at him; thankful he hadn't said anything when he turns to see the giant smile on Minho's face.

As stressful as it is, as loud as Seungmin may find it, it would be just as cruel for Chan to tell Minho off. It's not his fault for being excited, especially when Chan's barely had the time to explain everything to him. About two hours ago, they hadn't even known that Seungmin would be coming to live with them.

Over time, he will have to remind him when he forgets. But for today, Chan won't let his infection good mood be ruined.

"I've-" Minho says, so excited that he stumbles over his own words, "I've got-"

He gives up trying to speak, instead spinning on one foot and taking off down the hallway. Chan's got just a good enough view that he can see Minho disappear into his room, the door wide open behind him.

There's no telling how long Minho's going to take - a few seconds can easily turn into five minutes if he gets distracted, which is highly likely - so Chan turns back to Seungmin. 

"We can buy anything you might need tomorrow," he tells the two-year-old. "We'll got to the supermarket, and we'll get you what you need."

He doesn't even know what that _is_. Sure, Seungmin has a bag of belongings, but Chan has no idea what that actually includes. He hadn't had a chance to look properly when searching for his pyjamas. It must be items like a toothbrush, clothes and soft toys - but what about other items like duvet covers? If the one that Chan currently had on the bed isn't soft enough, what can he do? 

That's a problem he can deal with when it happens, though. For now, it would be foolish to try and concentrate on anything other than what's happening at the very moment. He can only deal with so many things at one time. 

The sound of thundering footsteps behind him betrays Minho's presence before Chan can see him. 

"Look!" He says, sliding across the floor and towards Seungmin, "I've got a present for you!"

Sure enough, there's something in his hands. His body is angled in a way that means Chan can't see exactly what it is, but it's not particularly large. He gets a little close to Seungmin before realising that he might be making a mistake and backing up, putting the gift onto the floor.

Seungmin has leant over and picked it up before Chan can get a better look.

He moves so quickly that Chan is almost sure he'd imagined it. That must have been what Minho saw - not that Seungmin was uncomfortable because he was getting too close, but because of the gift that he'd been holding. 

Minho shuffles back until he reaches Chan, and then clings onto his leg. There's a huge smile on his face, a look of pure, unadulterated self-satisfaction, and the expression is mirrored on Seungmin.

He's holding a dinosaur toy.

It's hard and plastic. Chan can vaguely remember the figure lying in the corner of Minho's room, although he never would have remembered it, and he's not sure where it actually came from. As far as he can remember - and as clearly as he can see what's between the clutches of Seungmin's arms - it's a T-rex. There are teeth painted onto the mouth, slitted eyes, and a twistable neck.

Seungmin is holding so tightly that Chan's not sure he's ever going to let it go. There's a huge smile on his face, his eyes creased in pure happiness. 

"Minho," Chan says, keeping his voice low. Not because he's afraid to scare Seungmin - since it appears that the two-year-old isn't as fragile as he'd feared. But because if he speaks louder, he's not sure whether he'll make it through an entire sentence without his voice cracking. "Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you."

Minho just beams back up at him. "I already _told_ you, Daddy," he says, sounding rather offended that Chan could have forgotten, "I'm going to be the best big brother ever."


End file.
